


Life in the Stilinski-Hale Household

by kyrene



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Baking, Barebacking, Bruising, Completed, Deepthroating, Derek in college, Domestic Fluff, Fingerfucking, Frottage, Happy Ending, Intercrural Sex, Kate being Kate, M/M, Nipple Play, No Werewolves, Oblivious parents, Possessive Derek, Rimming, Shaving, Shower Sex, Slow Burn, Stepbrothers, Top Derek, a lot of reference to masturbation, and Jennifer being Jennifer, and making up (to a certain extent), at least it certainly surprised me, blowjob, breaking up, but getting there, extreme underage; Derek is 17 but Stiles is only 13, frilly pink lacy apron, inappropriate text messages, manhandling kink, mention of drugging and very slight molestation, mild hints of light incest, not out of the woods yet!, penetrative anal sex, pervy uncle peter, raw cookie dough consumption, shirt borrowing, shirt trading, slight bullying, slight thumbsucking, snark during sex, sucking of someone else's thumb, surprise pairing lol, teenage wangst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-20 22:46:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 140,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1528487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrene/pseuds/kyrene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek is seventeen, Stiles is thirteen, they're stepbrothers, things happen....</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brwneyedvixen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brwneyedvixen/gifts).



> Here we have an alternate universe version of Derek and Stiles and their respective parents. Yes, this is the Sheriff and Talia, but they're human and boring and while they're still pretty awesome, they're not quite as amazing as they are on the series.
> 
> Additionally, there was no Laura or Cora, no Hale fire (since there are no werewolves), both Derek and Stiles have always been only children, and all four family members have the last name "Stilinski-Hale". (Because why should the man's family name always be in the final spot? And why should the wife and children be the only ones to hyphenate? The Stilinski-Hale household is far more progressive than that!)
> 
> Many thanks to amandajean for co-writing the first chapter with me, then cutting me loose to write the rest of it myself, and many thanks to brwneyedvixen for her pre-reading, advice, cheerleading, and general encouragement of this story!

"C'mon, Derek, I hafta peeeeee!" Stiles whined, dancing from foot to foot in the hallway, holding onto the base of his dick with one hand through the material of his pajama bottoms. He knew he wouldn't get in trouble for grabbing himself -- like he normally would have done -- because both their parents were downstairs in the kitchen. Then again, if one of them was up here, they might have been able to _pry Derek out of the bathroom_.

"Go use Mom and Dad's," Derek replied, his voice muffled through the door.

"No," Stiles snapped, though if Derek didn't hurry up it was going to be he would either have to do that or wet himself. 

"Why not?"

"What even are you doing in there?" Stiles whined, still dancing a little. He didn't want to tell Derek that he didn't like using the master bathroom anymore ever since he'd found a pubic hair on the toilet seat in there. It had probably been his Dad's and, yes, he'd started sprouting them himself, but it didn't make it any less gross.

There was no reply, but then he hadn't really been expecting one. Stiles was still dancing, but he was starting to think that standing perfectly still might work out better for him. Either way, he needed Derek out of the bathroom, _now_.

Time for some serious whining. "Derek, come on!"

Stiles didn't even know what his stepbrother could be doing in there. They had their own rooms, so it wasn't like Derek didn't have plenty of private time for jerking off. Of course, if he was taking a dump, Stiles didn't really want to use the bathroom after him.... But he just needed to pee, he _really_ needed to pee, and he could hold his breath for as long as it took to pee.

Stiles heard banging around and the low tones of Derek muttering until finally, as he desperately squeezed his handful even tighter, Derek yanked open the bathroom door. He glared at Stiles, red-faced and sweaty from God only knew what he was doing in there.

"Jeeze, freaking thank you," Stiles huffed, banging against Derek's bare shoulder -- Derek spent far too much time shirtless and examining his abs in every reflective surface in the house in Stiles opinion -- as he scurried into the bathroom. It only smelled like pungent but relatively clean teenage boy in there, the way it usually did, so he had no clue what could have been taking so long.

Stiles basically yanked open his pants and whipped his dick out, sighing in relief. Seriously, it felt deliriously good, and he'd blame the near euphoria of finally letting go for the fact that he only noticed Derek still standing there in the doorway, staring, when he was almost done.

"Boundaries!" Stiles squeaked, hurriedly slouching slightly sideways to protect his dick from Derek's stare.

"Still waiting for that first growth spurt, huh?" Derek said, snotty as anything. Dad had said that Stiles needed to be nice to Derek because he was growing into a teenager and had been all hormones back when their parents had gotten married five years ago. But Stiles was the same age _now_ that Derek had been then, which meant _he_ was a teenager and no one walked around Stiles like they were on eggshells. It was seriously unfair!

"Shut up," Stiles snapped, knowing it was a lame comeback. But Derek was standing there with all his height and dark hair and intense pale green-hazel eyes that were almost blue sometimes, and he seemed to be made up almost entirely of muscle and body hair. Which was probably why he was being such a jerk recently, since puberty had hit him a little late but really hard. 

Still, it was no excuse, and Stiles wasn't going to just be his punching bag, verbal or physical.

Stiles knew that he would get where Derek was someday, eventually. He was only just thirteen and Derek had been seventeen for months. Stiles was still sort of short, and he was skinny as a matchstick no matter how much he ate. He might never grow as tall and beefy as Derek, but his shoulders were starting to get a little more broad, so there was some hope there....

Now, if only his dick would get a smack from the puberty fairy's wand, so Derek couldn't stand there and mock it. Stiles had seen Scott's dick, he knew his was a perfectly reasonable size for his age, but he also knew it was bound to get bigger, and he couldn't wait for that day.

"How about some privacy!" Stiles demanded, pulling up his pants and trying to will away the bright red in his face as he flushed the toilet. It had felt so good to finally get to pee, and then Derek had had to go and ruin it all. Jerkface.

Speaking of Derek and his jerky face... Stiles glanced down from that face at Derek's torso, fascinated as always by the way his scrawny stepbrother had turned into a freaking male centerfold practically overnight. He had abs, he had pecs, he had... no hair on either of those, above his bellybutton, and Stiles was pretty sure that last time he'd seen Derek's chest -- which had been the night before because Derek was evidently allergic to pajama tops as well as shirts -- there had been plenty of hair there.

"Did you shave your chest?" Stiles squawked incredulously, eyes round.

Now that he'd noticed, he couldn't stop staring. Like Derek's exhibitionist streak needed the encouragement. But his skin was so smooth it almost reminded Stiles of wax, his nipples tight, tawny coins, puckered in the cool morning air. Without the dusting of dark hair that had been there before he looked like a new person. 

And that person resembled a Ken doll. Stiles had enough of a sense of self-preservation not to tell Derek this, but he was thinking it loud and clear.

"What do you think, Sherlock?" Derek asked snidely.

Stiles snorted, because of course Derek was gonna be a jerk about it. "If you used your mom's Nair, she'll kill you," he warned.

Instead of getting flustered, Derek just raised an eyebrow, and from the looks of things he'd manscaped those as well. "Are you speaking from experience?"

Stiles stuck out his tongue, but it would have been kind of like salt in a wound to admit that his own hairlessness was natural rather than chemical so he didn't say that. Damn that puberty fairy. Well, he had hair _down there_ , but none on his chest. Yet.

"You'd better never use that stuff on your nuts," he warned, eyeballing the bulge in Derek's jeans. He got to see a lot of his stepbrother on a regular basis, but he had yet to catch a glimpse of his junk. He only wanted to get a good look out of... curiosity. That was all. He just wondered how Derek stacked up to all the guys he'd been ogling online, that was it.

Of course, he had to go look at things like that at Scott's house, because his own parents had their computer all locked up so that he couldn't access any of the good stuff. He cleared his browser history every time and so far Scott's Mom hadn't noticed. Or at least she hadn't said anything; _hopefully_ she hadn't noticed.

Stiles looked at girls too.... It just wasn't _only_ girls that he looked at.

Derek's brows crawled up his forehead and he had shifted completely from looking embarrassed to being very obviously amused. "So you _are_ speaking from experience," he said with way too much delight in his voice.

Stiles retaliated by slamming the door in his stepbrother's smirking face, even though he'd already peed. Well, he could get in the shower and get in a quick jerk in before breakfast.

Something about seeing Derek prancing around without half his clothes always got him kind of riled up and bothered. Stiles tried not to think too hard about what that might mean. Because Derek was an asshole, and besides that, he was Stiles' stepbrother.

Mostly, though, he was a big old jerkface.

And when Stiles was in the shower stall, wringing a quick, furious orgasm out of himself, he definitely wasn't thinking about Derek's newly bare chest, or how he might have manscaped... down there. Because that would be gross and perverted, right?

That reality didn't stop Stiles from coming so hard his knees almost went out from under him, though. It never had before and he doubted it ever would.

+=+=+

Derek really hated when he got stuck taking care of Stiles.

It wasn't because he hated Stiles. He wasn't that much of a dick to his younger stepbrother. But Stiles was younger and he was Derek's stepbrother. They weren't friends, and Derek never _chose_ to get stuck with babysitting duties.

It wasn't as if Stiles was five or something, although Derek _did_ do his best to keep the kid away from sugar and all valuables. He was thirteen, perfectly able to look after himself and make his own meals. Derek suspected the only reason he was stuck being responsible for his stepbrother when their parents were out was because his Mom wanted them to bond. 

So far the Sheriff had taken them fishing -- where Stiles nearly capsized their boat -- to the State Fair in the dead of California summer -- where Stiles got a sunburn and nearly hurled cotton candy all over Derek's shoes -- and their Mom had insisted they go paintballing then proceeded to kick everyone's asses, including their Dad's. Talia Stilinski-Hale was deadly when it came to competition, and her husband knew when to let her win, even though he was the one who carried a gun for his job.

All of their attempts at family bonding, including a Family Game Night that was unceremoniously shelved when they realized how unpredictable a Sheriff's schedule could be, meant that Derek and Stiles were more than strangers but certainly not brothers and not even friends. 

Derek liked Stiles well enough, he supposed, but living with a thirteen year old wasn't a walk in the park, even one as goofily endearing as Stiles. Derek was nearly an adult and Stiles was still a kid, and they had virtually none of the same interests. 

And if Stiles thought that Derek hadn't noticed how much time the kid spent staring at him, he was wrong. At first it was baffling, and then it was funny, and now it was kind of annoying but mostly hilarious. Whatever. Derek had been thirteen too, once upon a time -- though admittedly a different breed of thirteen -- and anything that hoved into his field of vision had given him vicious boners at the time.

He might have joked about whether or not Stiles was even capable of getting a hard-on, if he were talking about this. But he wasn't actually going to mention any of this to anyone, plus he was pretty sure that even though Stiles was still young and skinny, he was already jerking it on a regular basis.

If he had been feeling kind Derek might have offered to discus the whole bisexuality thing with Stiles, since it was so obvious that the kid was plowing headlong into swinging both ways. But that wasn't his job. The thought of being so intimate with his stepbrother, being so emotionally vulnerable even on a verbal level, made him want to snarl. And that would hardly be helpful, where being helpful was kind of the entire point.

If he'd been cruel instead of kind, he could have given the Sheriff a head's up that maybe _he_ should talk to Stiles about it. But even if they weren't close, he and Stiles were technically siblings, and there was a sibling code that said never to rat on ones brothers or sisters about anything important, especially to ones parents.

Not to mention, Derek thought, it might not be the _most_ awkward thing in the world to tell his stepfather that the man's son was probably bisexual... but it would be pretty damned close to it.

Derek wondered if Stiles was even aware of his budding sexuality yet. He was barely pubescent, after all. Derek might have thought he was gay if it weren't for the whole Lydia thing. Hell, the fact that Derek knew the name of a female eighth grader that he'd never met -- as well as her favorite color and the name of her new puppy -- was annoying as hell and clearly indicated the power of Stiles' crush on her.

Stiles was scrawny, but he had potential, Derek supposed. If he wore something other than baggy slogan teeshirts and did a pushup or two from time to time. It was too early into puberty to tell if he'd shoot up or fill out, let alone tell what would happen to his voice. He had no layer of baby fat to lose, but Derek thought the angles of his face might sharpen even further as he got older. 

At the moment, though, Stiles was an awkward collection of limbs and energy, nerdy and annoying. He wasn't unpopular so much as unremarkable, and Derek was just glad that he'd be out of high school when Stiles became a freshman next year. Otherwise he'd probably spend his life dogged by Stiles and his dweeby little friend Scott, trying to make his way down the halls at Beacon Hills High with each boy attached to a leg like limpets. Nothing could have ruined Derek's carefully constructed image like Scott McCall's inhaler and Stiles' terrible Dalek imitation.

Stiles seemed to have a special knack for being annoying. As though it were a gift, like his talent for getting good grades despite never seeming to seriously study, or his skill at tripping over his own feet.

And he was certainly bringing that talent for being annoying into play tonight, while their parents were out on "date night" and Derek was stuck babysitting.

The problem was that Stiles didn't seem to like having Derek watch him any more than Derek liked doing it. And when Stiles didn't like something, he got even more unmanageable than he normally was; which was bad enough!

Once they'd gotten past the whole wanting to invite Scott over thing -- which Derek nixed on the grounds that he wouldn't drive, Scott wasn't allowed to ride his bike so late, and if they tried doing it anyway Derek was gonna tell Mrs. McCall what had really happened to her favorite wolf lamp -- Stiles seemed bound and determined to be as annoying as was humanly possible.

And for Stiles, who was naturally annoying, that was really damned annoying indeed.

First off, he ordered a pizza without getting permission. But since Derek hadn't been thrilled about having leftover meatloaf for dinner and he had some cash on him, he just paid for it and made a mental note to add the cost to the miserable pittance he got paid for 'sitting Stiles. He did intend to eat it all himself, but Stiles whined so much that he eventually caved, simply for the sake of his sanity.

Then there was a brief lull while Stiles was on the phone, complaining to Scott about how awful Derek was being. After that Stiles did his homework, because the kid was some kind of freak that didn't use Friday night as excuse to goof off, what the hell even was that about?

But once he was through with that, he was right there in the living room, demanding that Derek let him use the television even though Derek was _clearly_ in the middle of watching something.

"Why don't you go stream something on the computer?" Derek asked, pausing his show and scowling. It had been so nice and quiet just two minutes ago.

"Because I want to play a game, obviously," Stiles retorted, pointing at the Wii. It could be amusing watching him flail around, Derek knew, but only for a few minutes before it got embarrassing and besides, he was _watching_ something.

"No," he said firmly. "Go play one of your stupid online games."

Then he couldn't even concentrate on what he was watching, because Stiles started a three minute diatribe in defense of his dorky online game. Which he probably wasn't even supposed to be playing; Derek would have to say something to his stepfather about the kinds of deviant predators Stiles might meet on there. It was totally for Stiles' own protection and not to wreck his fun, right?

Derek tuned out Stiles' voice and after a while Stiles seemed to lose interest, wandering away. Kitchen or bedroom, Derek didn't care as long as he _shut the hell up_.

Of course, Derek should have known it wouldn't be so easy. He paused his show in order to go take a leak and when he came back, Stiles was busily setting up his game.

"Dammit, Stiles!" he swore, hands clenching in fists. He wanted to grab the little brat and shake him, hard. And if he did, he might get out of future babysitting duties, but he'd be in _so_ much trouble. It wasn't worth it. Not quite.

"I thought you were done," Stiles said guilelessly, his brown eyes huge and full of fake innocence and laughter, his obscene red mouth curving in a ridiculous moue.

"Well, I'm not," Derek ground out, advancing on his younger, smaller stepbrother. Stiles was no match for him, and Derek was _not_ going to lose this battle of wills. It would set a bad precedent. "Give me that remote."

Stiles danced away as Derek snatched at it, and, sure, _now_ he was graceful!

"No way, it's my turn!" he bleated. "You've been here for hours! Don't you have homework to do?"

"Only complete freaks do homework on Friday night," Derek scoffed, making another grab that Stiles eluded. Barely.

"But I--" Stiles mouth fell open again, this time in outrage, still red and moist and way too pretty for a boy. "You jerk! You're definitely not getting this now!"

Derek knew better than to let Stiles goad him, but this was a matter of honor. And dominance. Derek was in charge here and Stiles needed to acknowledge that. Normally they were able to ignore one another, aside from the occasional exchange of snark and borderline insults, but tonight Stiles had been increasingly obnoxious. Like he wanted attention or something. Well, he wasn't necessarily going to _like_ any attention he got from Derek now.

Derek lunged at Stiles, and Stiles darted away, waving the remote and laughing like a maniac.

"And you expect me to think you're _not_ a freak?" Derek asked scornfully, grasping at Stiles again. He had more muscle mass than Stiles, and he was wiling to bet he had more stamina. Stiles might elude him for a while, but unless he locked himself in the bathroom again, Derek _would_ get that remote back.

And if he _did_ lock himself in the bathroom, well, the remote wouldn't do him much good in there, now would it?

"You're the freak!" Stiles came back with, in a disappointing display of lack of imagination. He stuck his tongue out and Derek rolled his eyes at how childish it had looked.

"Come here!"

Stiles led him on a merry dance around the living room and dining area, but Derek caught him in the end, back in front of the TV, pouncing him into the shag rug that both their parents wanted to get rid of, but which Stiles insisted they keep, no matter how old and ugly it was. It did manage to cushion his tumble of ungainly limbs and pad Derek's knees as he sat on Stiles' stomach, prying the remote out of his hand.

"Derek! You asshole! Get off me!"

He ignored Stiles' squalling, distracted because he could tell the minute he had the remote in hand that Stiles had removed its batteries. So they were stuck staring at the Wii menu, and there went half his victory right there. 

Dammit. 

Well, at least he was still on top, literally.

"Get off!" Stiles was panting, squirming and shoving ineffectually at Derek's thighs with his fine-boned hands. Without thinking, Derek tossed the useless remote aside and reached down to grab both of Stiles' skinny wrists, pinning them to the floor on either side of his head.

He froze there, realizing two things at once. The first was that he kind of liked this, looking down at Stiles, all flushed, his mouth gaping and wet, his narrow chest heaving, the warmth of his torso captured underneath Derek's thighs and ass, his arms and shoulders jerking as he struggled to free himself.... 

And the second was that he was actually hard. Which would be a complete disaster if Stiles noticed, even though Stiles was probably about the age to start popping inappropriate wood at the slightest change in the wind.

Not that there could be much more of an inappropriate situation than this one, pinning down his whining, wriggling stepbrother who was only thirteen, and then getting a boner.

Oops.

Derek tried to will himself to let go and pull away before Stiles could notice and either have ammo to mock him forever, or worse, freak the hell out. But something about the way Derek's blood was pounding in his ears -- and other places -- was new and fascinating, that same appeal of Stiles worked up and trapped underneath him. Instead of letting go, Derek's fingers tightened around Stiles' wrists until a pained hiss of breath was pushed from Stiles' lungs.

"You are such a pain in the ass," Derek said, not as convincing as it could have been given the way his voice dipped low and gravelly.

Stiles made a face and continued to squirm, thighs jostling Derek but coming nowhere near being able to unseat him. "Okay, seriously, you made your point, lemme go."

The continual movement of Stiles' skinny body trying to buck him off was annoying and stomach-tightening at the same time. Derek was pretty sure his own mouth was hanging open, breath coming quicker, and sweat prickled uncomfortably on his skin, under his arms and at the back of his neck. 

"Say please," he demanded, watching his own knuckles turn white as Stiles tried to twist his wrists away again.

Something about his tone must of registered as weird to Stiles, because he suddenly stilled and drew a nervous tongue over his bottom lip. "What?" he asked, half laughing, but his eyes were tracking Derek's face carefully.

Derek grunted, squeezing his thighs around Stiles' body. "You heard me," he said, sounding somewhat more like himself, though still too hoarse. He loosened his grip a little as he continued, "Say. Please." 

Stiles' breath hitched nervously; Derek could actually feel it underneath him, Stiles' narrow chest between his inner thighs. He remained silent, staring up at Derek with big brown eyes and his mouth hanging open.

"Pretty please," Derek clarified slowly and deliberately, his cock throbbing in his jeans like this was his first hard-on. It took everything he had in him to keep from shifting his pelvis forward and down, so that he could rub his cock against Stiles' soft stomach. So far his loose jeans were doing a pretty decent job of hiding the fact that he had a raging erection, but grinding into Stiles' torso would definitely give the game away. Even though that was what his instincts were urging.

"I will not," Stiles protested breathlessly, attempting to arch underneath Derek's unmoving weight and rubbing up against his balls in all kinds of interesting ways. Well, really only one way, but Stiles' body was rubbing up into Derek's balls so what more did he need?

Derek needed a lot more... but he shouldn't. "Say it," he gritted, because he really ought to let Stiles up, and then he should go rub one out behind his locked door, and never let Stiles know what had happened.

"No!" Stiles said, panting now, his cheeks blazing red. Derek would be willing to bet they were hot to the touch. "I _will_ tell Mom and Dad, though, if you don't let me go now!"

Derek had no intention of losing face, but he did scoot back. Only to encounter something slightly surprising, even though he maybe should have been expecting it.

"You're hard," he accused, staring down at Stiles and his flushed face as he deliberately ground his ass into the stiffness he had bumped up against. Which, okay, wasn't the best move he could have made, but it certainly drew attention to the situation even more than his words could have done.

"What? No!" Stiles squawked, which was ridiculous when Derek could _feel_ his hard-on, right there. "That's the, um, just the batteries! From the remote!"

To be honest, Derek had actually forgotten why he had pinned Stiles to the floor in the first place. The reality of both their hard-ons had kind of distracted him.

"You're hard _and_ you're lying to me about it," Derek snapped, glaring down at Stiles in an attempt to keep himself from laughing. Part of him wanted to mock Stiles for implying that his dick was as small as a double-A battery, but most of him was still caught up in the heady feeling of power and arousal that dominating Stiles was filling him with.

"Derek, you're hurting me!" Stiles whined, twisting his wrists within Derek's tight grasp.

"Cut it out," Derek directed, because Stiles actually was going to bruise himself if he kept that up, and then they would both have some explaining to do to their parents, and Derek would probably be in some serious trouble. "Don't try to change the subject."

"I'm not!" Stiles bleated, even though he clearly had been. "Let me up, Derek!"

"Part of you is already up," Derek said ruthlessly, and it was taking a chance that Stiles might catch on to his own hard-on, but he pressed his ass back into Stiles' raging boner again.

"Ha-ha, look at you with a sense of humor and everything, now let me go!" Stiles demanded, his voice high and breathless, his words running together.

Derek might almost have felt bad for Stiles, the way he was so flushed he looked like his face was on fire, the way there was perspiration beaded at his temples, the way he kind of looked like he was about to cry. He might almost have admired the way Stiles was sticking to his guns and demanding to be let go off instead of caving to the way Derek was pointing out his hard-on.

But Stiles had been a real shit all night, and this was payback of a sort. Even if Derek was dancing the knife's edge of disaster himself, considering that Stiles wasn't the only one with an erection. Thank God for the loose crotch of Derek's jeans. 

Still, the longer Derek held Stiles pinned down like this, the more likely it was that the younger boy would notice that he wasn't the only one with an inappropriate boner. Also he might stop his squirming long enough to realize he wasn't the only one who was all flushed and sweaty.

If he hadn't noticed already, that was. 

Derek needed to retreat, and the sooner the better, but how was he supposed to do that without either giving the game away where his erection was involved or conceding defeat where control of the remote was concerned?

"What are you gonna do if I let you go?" he asked, and was that _his_ voice coming out in a low rasp that dripped with sexual innuendo when he had his thirteen year old stepbrother pinned on the living room floor and they were both hard?

"Play Wii!" Stiles squalled. 

Derek snarled, driven to it by the sheer inanity of this reply, as well as the undeniable, uncontrolled arousal running rampant through his system, and for just a moment Stiles looked scared of him. 

Legitimately afraid that Derek might, what, hurt him?

It was like having a bucket of cold water dumped over his head. Derek let go of Stiles' wrists as if they'd burned him and lurched to his feet and away from Stiles' prone body. 

Teasing, dominating, and sometimes intimidating his stepbrother was one thing, but Derek hadn't ever wanted Stiles to think that he might actually _hurt_ him; not physically.

His hard-on hadn't faded, though, not even with his sudden burst of guilt and shame, so Derek beat a quick retreat to his bedroom, locking the door. Yeah, that meant letting Stiles win their battle over the television, and, yeah, technically Derek was still supposed to be watching his stepbrother while their parents were out. But the only thing that could make this situation worse would be Stiles bursting into the room while Derek was on his bed, violently wringing an orgasm out of himself. 

Hence the locking of his door.

Besides, Derek didn't really think Stiles would get into too much trouble without someone out there in the living room watching him. And if Stiles caught even a glimpse of his hard-on, Derek would be dead meat.

As it was Stiles was probably going to tell their parents about the way Derek had pinned him down and held onto his wrists too tightly... which meant Derek was going to be in deep shit anyway.

But none of that mattered now, as he quickly shucked his jeans, threw himself down on his bed, and shoved his hand down his boxer-briefs.

His cock was so hard it ached and he'd already made a mess of his underwear with leaking precome, so he might as well just jerk off inside his briefs and _then_ change. It wasn't like he had the patience to bother undressing right now anyway.

Derek didn't usually prefer to use his own precome as lube, but his hard-on was so wet and slick with it that it actually worked out this time. Especially since it only took a handful -- literally and figuratively -- of rough strokes with Stiles' gaping red mouth clear in his mind's eye before he was shooting off with a stifled groan, heels digging into his bedcovers.

As he floated back down from his orgasm, one thought echoed loud in his mind.

He was so very, very fucked.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles still wasn't sure quite what had happened on the living room floor, but he did know that once Derek had banged his door closed he didn't really feel like playing Wii anymore.

That might have had something to do with the way his dick was as hard as it had ever gotten, not to mention the confusion in his head over what had gotten it that way.

He just couldn't get it out of his mind; the way Derek had felt over top of him, and the way it had made him feel. Derek's bulky body over top of him, resting on his stomach and then his hips, even though he'd been holding most of his own weight up. His hands hard around Stiles' wrists, fingers tight. The way he'd sounded, breathing heavily and growling in a voice far deeper than his usual tones. 

Stiles knew why Derek had been _annoyed_ at him, but he didn't understand what had gotten him so _angry_. It wasn't as though this was the first time Stiles had set out to deliberately annoy his older stepbrother while being watched by him. This was definitely the first time he'd wound up pinned to the floor, though, and the first time he'd wound up with a hard-on.

Stiles normally jerked off after he'd gone to bed, before he fell asleep, but this time it was still early in the evening and he really needed some "private time". The heck of it was that he wasn't stiff because he knew he was gonna jerk off. He was stiff specifically because of Derek, and what he'd just done.

Even the humiliation of Derek _calling him_ on his erection hadn't been enough to wilt it. Stiles still couldn't believe that not only had Derek said something about his hard-on, but he'd actually rubbed his ass all over it. His fine, tight ass that Stiles was well aware he himself spent far too much time staring at....

And, okay, there was a reason that Stiles had stayed hard even after Derek had started teasing him about it. Because being pinned to the floor by his incredibly hot, if also asshole-ish stepbrother did it for him. And, evidently, Derek being an asshole did nothing to deter Stiles' lust.

Maybe he had a thing for assholes. It wouldn't surprise him; Stiles was kind of an asshole himself, he had to admit. At least in comparison to, say, Scott, who never said mean things to people on purpose even when he knew they were mean, like Stiles sometimes did.

Derek had been more mean than Stiles tonight, Stiles thought as he sat up and cupped himself through his jeans. His hard-on throbbed under his hand, and he squeezed it a little, though he ought to hold off on rubbing it until he was in his bedroom with his pants off.

He'd probably spontaneously combust if Derek walked back in here and found him playing with himself, Stiles thought, his cheek burning hot all the way to the tips of his ears. And he wasn't even sure whether he meant with embarrassment or horniness.

Probably both.

Definitely both, he admitted to himself as he closed his bedroom door. He couldn't even lock it to make sure he wasn't disturbed; Derek got a lock but Stiles didn't and that was so not fair. Even though, well, Stiles had _had_ a lock until he'd broken that doorknob, and their parents had decided he got in too much trouble to be trusted with a lock on his door, and, again, _not fair_ , but whining about it didn't change anything.

Stiles rubbed his wrists as he made his way over to his bed, his hard-on chafing inside his jeans. They still ached and for some reason that was turning him on even more. He still couldn't quite believe that Derek had held onto them so tightly. He knew he was gonna bruise; he was just a little surprised that he didn't actually care.

Maybe he shouldn't have pushed Derek quite so hard. Not over the Wii or the remote, because Derek really _had_ been hogging the tee vee. But ordering the pizza had kind of been a dick move. Derek was probably gonna tell their parents, and Stiles would probably get in trouble.

He probably deserved it. But that didn't mean he liked it.

Stiles pondered what had led him to being such a brat tonight while he got undressed and clambered into bed, his hard-on still throbbing accusingly at him between his thighs. Because he was honest enough to admit that he'd been kind of shitty... but not without provocation, right? 

Maybe he was just sick of Derek acting like it was such a burden to look after him. Stiles was perfectly capable of watching himself and they both knew it, but evidently their parents disagreed. Still, that didn't mean Derek had to be such a douche about it. Especially when they both knew that it was unnecessary.

Stiles really didn't like it when Derek ignored him, treating him like he wasn't even there. It made him feel itchy under his skin. He'd rather Derek be insulting him and sneering at him than acting like he didn't exist.

Well, he'd certainly gotten Derek's attention, Stiles thought ruefully as he reached for his lotion and propped his knees up, creating a tent for his dick under the covers. And he was about to masturbate to the lingering sensation of Derek straddling his torso and grinding back against his hard-on.

God, that had been weird. Wonderful, but weird. 

Stiles chose to dwell more on the feel of it than its weirdness, though, as he began to rub his hard-on with a lotion-drenched hand. It hadn't been the first time Stiles' dick had been pressed against something -- he'd humped a pillow or two in his time, and tried other things -- but it had been the first time it had been pressed up against the body part of another actual person. One who was hot like burning, no less.

It didn't seem right to jerk off to the thought of his stepbrother, his hard muscles and his tight ass... but it would have felt even less right to _not_ jerk off to the thought of Derek and his amazing body when it had just been draped over top of him.

Stiles jammed the thumb of his left hand in his mouth as he worked his aching dick with his right hand. He sometimes found himself sucking his thumb at night before falling asleep -- even though his Dad had tried to break him of the habit years ago -- but it was different when he was masturbating. When he was touching himself he felt like he just _needed something in his mouth_. 

He wasn't sure why, but he did, okay?

It really was different. When he stuck his thumb in his mouth while chasing sleep he curled his first couple of fingers over the bridge of his nose and had his thumb in just a bit past the first knuckle, suckling lightly. But when he was jerking off, his fingers went over to rest against his right cheek and he had his thumb jammed in as far as it would go, sideways and deep, all the way to the back of his mouth. His teeth dug into his skin and he sucked hard, and sometimes it still wasn't enough so he stuck his middle two fingers in his mouth instead.

Stiles was pretty sure that the phrase "orally fixated" could be applied to him, even though he only had a vague idea of what that really meant. He was pretty sure it was considered a good thing, though. Especially where guy-on-guy sex was concerned.

Ever since he'd discovered internet porn, Stiles had found himself wondering what it was like to give a blowjob. He knew the normal thing would have been to wonder what it felt like to _get_ a blowjob, and he certainly did spend plenty of time thinking about that as well. He knew that having a dick in his mouth would be nothing like having his thumb in his mouth, but he was pretty sure that his need to have it in there indicated that he'd be pretty okay with having something bigger in there....

Right now, though, he was concentrating on the hand he had around his dick, keeping the way Derek had pinned him down and ground his ass back against that very same hard dick in the forefront of his mind as he worked himself rapidly toward climax.

Stiles had seen plenty of videos of guys shooting off -- ever since he'd figured out how to erase a browser's history he'd gotten pretty bold about what sites he visited when he was on the McCall computer while Scott's Mom was out -- and he knew that it was a lot more than his own slim dick managed.

But he was only thirteen and it would get more impressive, he was sure. Right now his mind was filled with the thought of how much Derek must shoot when _he_ came. He was almost an adult and if the bulge in his pants was anything to go by, his dick and balls were fully developed.

Stiles was torn between being jealous and just desperately wanting to see it happen.

That was what took him over the edge and had him spilling hot on his stomach. Maybe it was thinner and less copious than grown-up guys managed, but Stiles still came wet, and he was proud of that fact. He'd been playing with himself since before he could manage that much, so it was awesome to see that his body really was heading on its way through puberty.

Someday he'd catch up to Derek. And then he wouldn't feel so inferior in comparison to his stepbrother.

But.... Stiles rolled over and wiped his hand and stomach off, then wrapped a hand around his wrist, squeezing to feel the dull ache. But he kind of _liked_ that Derek was bigger and stronger than him. He liked the way Derek had held him down, the way he'd been so heavy and hot over top of him.

Shit. Stiles licked his lips, squeezing his wrist even harder, as his dick tingled and threatened to stiffen up again. He really had a thing for Derek, didn't he. He hadn't thought so. He'd just thought Derek annoyed and infuriated him. He'd thought his fascination with Derek's body had been fueled only by envy. 

He'd been wrong. So very, very wrong.

Stiles forgot to brush his teeth, and he jerked off four times that night, and every time he did it, he was thinking about Derek.

He had no regrets. Well, maybe a few. He woke up nearly glued to his sheets, with fuzzy teeth and lightly aching balls. That part wasn't so fun. It had totally been worth it, though.

+=+=+

Once Derek had started thinking of Stiles as a sexual being, he found that he couldn't stop. It wasn't that he wanted to. Stiles was _thirteen_. That was practically a child still. Derek was seventeen; he'd be going to college once he graduated. He'd be legally an adult in less than a year.

No, really. Thirteen was a _child_. Obviously, Stiles could get an erection. But he was all soft and tiny and delicate yet. There was no universe in which it was okay for Derek to be considering him in a sexual manner.

And yet.... He knew that Stiles could get an erection and he assumed that he took care of it the same way that Derek did. And his brain was swimming with images of Stiles with his long-fingered hand wrapped around his slender penis, that stupid red mouth hanging open and wet as he panted in pleasure, his toes curling....

Dammit!

Life with Stiles had already been unbearable; it was going to be even worse now. 

Derek had fully expected that Stiles would rat him out the moment their parents got home, and that would probably have been fair. But instead he'd switched to wearing long-sleeved shirts that covered his wrists, and he didn't seem to have breathed a word about how Derek had pinned him down and held him hard enough to bruise him.

In return, Derek hadn't complained about what a pain in the ass Stiles had been, even though he felt like his mother kind of expected it and was surprised by the lack. She scolded him for ordering pizza and he didn't even feel the urge to tell her Stiles had ordered it without asking. Their Dad was annoyed by the missing remote batteries, and that one Derek _did_ blame on Stiles, but he didn't tell him any of the rest of the story.

It didn't help Derek's crisis of morality any, did nothing to help assuage his guilt, when Stiles was quiet and subdued for the next couple of days. He and Derek avoided looking directly at one another and completely avoided interacting. 

Thankfully their parents didn't find _that_ part of it strange. Though Derek could tell they were a little concerned about Stiles; his Mom kept feeling the kid's forehead as though she thought he was coming down with something. Which, to be fair, some of the only times that he was quiet was when he was sick, so it wasn't a bad guess.

Derek watched Stiles when he knew his stepbrother wasn't looking, trying to figure out his strange new fascination.

Stiles was a scrawny little brat, so why had pinning him down that night felt so sexually charged?

Maybe Derek just wanted to dominate someone, and Stiles had just happened to be the first person he'd actually done it to.

That didn't feel right, though. He'd never had those kinds of urges before, and he'd had sex with girls and a couple of guys. Well, he'd had _sexual encounters_. As far as Derek was concerned, sex was getting off in the company of someone else, even if it involved frottage, mutual masturbation, and one solitary blowjob rather than any more complicated acts of penetration.

Anyway, Derek had never felt the slightest desire to grab any of his previous partners and pin them to the floor. So why had this urge suddenly popped up and made him get all forceful with Stiles? Stiles, who was his _very young_ , barely pubescent _stepbrother_.

And now Derek could hardly meet Stiles' eyes, and yet he couldn't tear his gaze away. He was still pretty sure that Stiles had never known about Derek's hard-on, but that didn't mean it hadn't happened. 

He was still confused that Stiles hid the bruises and hadn't told on him. He knew there _were_ bruises ringing Stiles' thin wrists. He'd seen them, when he'd surprised Stiles on his way out of the bathroom after showering while both of their parents had thankfully been downstairs. Stiles had been wearing a teeshirt and boxers, his hair had been slicked down wet, and his lashes had still been starred with water around his wide eyes.

Derek had seen the bruising then, even three days after he'd done it. Faint purple marks mottling Stiles' pale skin. They hadn't been as dark as some of the bruises Stiles had given himself through his clumsiness from time to time, but Derek had been the one to create them, and he couldn't look away.

The worst thing was that he wasn't sure whether he felt horrified with himself, proud of the marks etched on Stiles' skin, or some twisted combination of both.

Stiles had stared at him wordlessly for a moment, mouth gaping red and open like it usually was, and then he'd scuttled across the hall to his bedroom.

Just as well, since Derek had been in serious danger of popping a boner. Over his baby stepbrother.

Damn it.

So it wasn't a need that Derek felt to dominate _anyone_ he slept with; it seemed to only apply to Stiles. He wasn't happy about that realization, but he was willing to acknowledge it.

The part where he not only relived the events of that evening pretty much every time he had his cock in his hand in the privacy of his own room, but also found himself staring silently at Stiles when the kid wasn't looking back... that was a lot harder to accept and process.

Stiles was short. He was scrawny. Where he wasn't bony he still had baby fat. He was only just beginning to go through puberty. He wasn't anything that _anyone_ should want, much less someone four years older than him at an age where even a few _months_ could make a huge difference.

Scott came over to hang out later in the week, and that got Stiles back to his usual volume of obnoxiousness. Derek retreated to his bedroom, as he usually did when the two were tearing up the house, but not before he'd given Scott a good once-over. It made him feel even more like some sort of creepy pervert, but he had to know if this was some sort of disgusting new kink he'd developed.

The answer was, thankfully, no. Objectively, Scott was actually far cuter than Stiles. With flawless dark skin and floppy dark hair and an adorable grin. His eyes were easily as big and just as brown as Stiles' were, and he was more classically pretty than Stiles, who had an angular face and a snub nose.

And Scott moved Derek not at all. He could recognize that Scott was sort of pretty, but he was too young to consider sexually, and he was just as annoying to Derek as he's always been.

So if he still saw Scott as a kid and nothing but a kid... why was Derek looking at Stiles in a sexual way? Why didn't he see Stiles as a child, the way he had done before?

The question had no answer and it only infuriated Derek more the longer it went unanswered. It didn't go away. He tried to visualize anyone other than his stepbrother while he jerked off, and he failed miserably in this attempt. 

He had no idea how this had happened and he had no idea of how to fix it, and so he did the only thing he could think to do.

He did his best to ignore it.

Unfortunately, doing so meant ignoring Stiles as well. And as his stepbrother had proved so many times in the past, ignoring Stiles was something that was far easier said than done. 

+=+=+

Derek was being such a _dick_. If there was one thing Stiles couldn't stand, it was being ignored, and that was exactly what Derek was doing to him right now.

Stiles kind of understood, he supposed. He'd been the one pushing and pushing, That Night. The night Derek had pinned him down and set his brain aflame with unending fantasies of his older stepbrother pouncing him into the floor again and holding onto his wrists and... and....

Well. Stiles wasn't quite sure what came after that, but he imagined that it involved lots of touching with heavy hands and hot-wet mouths, and maybe their bodies pressed close together.

Derek was all muscle and Stiles was sure that he'd be hard as stone but with soft, warm skin over top of it all. And he remembered, vividly, the way it had felt when Derek had ground his behind back into Stiles' straining erection.

It didn't even feel like a submissive move to Stiles -- not the way Derek had been sitting on top of him, holding him down, squeezing his wrists hard enough to bruise. But it had been so intense. Derek's perfect ass, moving against Stiles' throbbing hard-on....

Stiles wanted more of that, wanted to have that again, wanted _more_. But even if he couldn't have any of that, he at least wanted Derek to stop freaking _ignoring_ him.

He got that Derek was embarrassed. He was embarrassed too. But he still existed. He was still Derek's stepbrother. They were _family_ but Derek was treating Stiles like an inconvenience, like a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe. And that wasn't fair and it wasn't nice!

And, okay, so maybe Stiles' dick was chafed from how often he was jerking off and his thumb was a little pruny from having it in his mouth while he jerked off, but Derek didn't know about that. Stiles only masturbated behind his closed bedroom door. Well, and in the shower.

It had been a week now, and their parents were planning another date night. Normally they went out without the boys every _other_ weekend -- or maybe only once a month if they were both busy -- but it was actually their anniversary, which made this Friday extra special.

And that was why Derek didn't get away with bailing on them and declining to watch Stiles.

He did try. He claimed to have a study group at the library, which Stiles was half sure was a lie, but Talia gave him the wide eyes and guilt-tripped him into agreeing to babysit. Derek was being a jerk, but he wasn't completely selfish and he loved his mother so he caved pretty quickly and agreed to watch Stiles.

Stiles had the perfect plan to annoy Derek into paying attention to him. It had bullet points and everything, and it totally would have worked to make his stepbrother stop ignoring him... except for one thing.

The problem being that it turned out Derek really _had_ had a study group meeting, and since he couldn't join them at the library, he had them come to him place.

And Derek's friends were -- not to put too fine a point on it -- a bunch of assholes.

Stiles knew he was the younger brother and he had ADHD, and he knew he could be annoying sometimes -- in fact, he'd been planning to be annoying on purpose tonight -- but that didn't justify the fact that Isaac, Erica, and Boyd were always so _mean_ to him.

Well, to be fair, Boyd wasn't mean. He just regarded Stiles with a look of faint disgust, as though he smelled something nasty every time they were in the same vicinity. And that was an expression he saved only for Stiles, so he was sure he wasn't imagining things.

Isaac was just plain nasty. He'd pinched Stiles more than once when he wanted the spot Stiles was in and Stiles didn't get out of the way quickly enough, and he wasn't shy about being snotty to Stiles as a matter of course. 

Erica was pretty much the worst, though; she treated him like a baby, talking down to him and acting like she was saying nice things when they were really condescending or just plain rude, as if Stiles was too _dumb_ to realize what she actually meant. 

Spoiler alert, he wasn't.

Overall, all three of Derek's friends were unpleasant to be around, though they acted decent enough to Derek and were downright angelic whenever any parents were within earshot.

Stiles tried to stay in his bedroom, getting his homework done -- and screw Derek for calling him a freak for doing so; after all, Derek was doing homework downstairs with his friends -- even though that was the opposite of what he'd wanted. That worked well enough, but then Derek ordered pizza, on purpose this time, and yelled at Stiles to come and get some.

If he hadn't been starving Stiles would have skipped dinner. If he'd thought he could sneak into the kitchen without anyone seeing him he'd have done that, because even grody leftovers would be better than spending time with Derek's friends.

But Stiles' stomach growled angrily when he cracked open his door and the scent of pepperoni and hot cheese wafted into his room, and there was no way he was going to be able to resist that. He was a growing thirteen year old boy and he needed sustenance.

It started as soon as he walked into the living room where the four older teenagers were sitting, eating pizza, surrounded by text books, papers, and laptops. 

"What are _you_ doing here?" Isaac asked scornfully, his eyes sweeping Stiles from head to toe and his lips curling to express his opinion of what he was seeing. Isaac was tall and lean and had curly hair. He also had incredible cheekbones and Stiles supposed he would have been really good looking if his attitude hadn't been at such a marked contrast to his face.

"Uh, I live here," Stiles said, at the same moment Derek snapped, "I just called him down to eat; you heard me."

Isaac pulled a sour face and stuffed a slice of pizza in his mouth. He certainly didn't do anything crazy like apologize.

"Don't chase him away, Isaac," Erica said in a tone of concern that was probably about as real as the color of her bright red lips. She was just as pretty as Isaac, with long blonde hair and nice breasts that she showed to best effect in whatever she was wearing. Her makeup was always flawless, even though Talia said she wore too much of it. She had a pretty exterior to hide her inner claws, but they were there and they were sharp. "He needs his nourishment. I mean, just _look_ at him."

Stiles felt his cheeks and ears burn, but he gamely ignored her and grabbed himself a paper plate and a couple of slices of pizza. Yeah, he was still on the scrawny side of skinny, but he was only thirteen. Even if he worked out as obsessively as Derek did he wouldn't look the way Derek looked; he was still too young to put on muscle. It was really unfair for Erica to point that out, but then, she was always doing things like that.

Stiles knew that Derek's friends considered him to be nothing better than a nuisance, but he hadn't even really said anything yet. Well, he'd answered Isaac's snotty question, but he'd answered it legitimately, with the truth.

Derek didn't say anything to defend him against Erica's sally; probably because he agreed.

Stiles wanted to take his pizza and retreat to his bedroom again, but Derek ordered him to "Sit," and Stiles knew that if it came down to a fight, he'd lose. And he'd look like an idiot losing, which he didn't want; especially in front of Derek's friends. So he sat.

When Stiles settled on the farthest side of the sofa, Boyd, who'd been in the middle, got up. He went into the bathroom, presumably to take a leak, which was fine, but then when he came back in he made a point of sitting on the floor near the loveseat Erica was perched on. Maybe he just wanted to be closer to his sort-of-girlfriend, but Stiles couldn't help feeling that it had been a direct snub.

He chewed on his pizza, even though his stomach was in knots, and tried to make himself as small as he could. He didn't stink, he knew he didn't. He'd showered after coming home from school, because it was the easiest way to jerk off without having to deal with the mess, and after the shower he'd just been sitting at his desk, doing his homework and playing one of his MMORPGs; nothing that would make him sweat. And he hadn't farted any time recently, either.

Stiles had been starving before he'd come downstairs, but now he could hardly make himself eat one slice of his favorite pizza. He couldn't understand why Derek wanted to make him stay here to eat when he'd been ignoring him for the entire week. 

Stiles was still kind of pissed off about that. And about this study group wrecking his plan to get Derek's undivided attention. He'd had a plan. It had been a good plan. And then Derek had gone and ruined it all.

Stiles found his eyes wandering to the spot on the floor where Derek had straddled him the week before, where Derek had pinned him down and rubbed his ass back against Stiles' dick. The bruises around his wrists had faded, and... Stiles kind of missed them.

He blushed as this thought crossed his mind, his face red with embarrassment and arousal rather than humiliation now. 

Of course, Erica _had_ to go and notice, and of course she would _have_ to go and say something. Because she was awful that way.

"Ooh, Stiles looks all hot and bothered," she crooned, draping her leg over Boyd's shoulder and wiggling her stocking-footed toes. "You like pizza that much?"

Stiles scowled at her as fiercely as he was able. He was aware that it was about as fierce as a kitten. A wet kitten, no less.

"Can I go now?" he asked Derek, trying to sound bored and matter-of-fact instead of small and pathetic, the way he was feeling. He set his plate with one slice of uneaten pizza on the coffee table. He just couldn't make himself choke it down.

"No, no," Isaac said to Erica, grinning wickedly. "He's got a hot date with his hand. Treat her right, Stiles, since she's going to be your only chance at a date to the prom."

Stiles wanted to look at Derek, to see if he had any intention of standing up for his stepbrother, but he didn't think he could meet Derek's eyes right now so he stared at his knees and tried to will Isaac and Erica to stop talking. It didn't work, of course. 

Erica made a hooting sound. "Nuh-uh, he's taking McCall to prom," she laughed. "They're getting married straight out of high school, didn't you know?"

Isaac nodded sagely and smirked at Stiles.

"Yeah, you're lucky your boyfriend is so devoted, Stiles. No one else would willingly spend time with you on a regular basis."

And Stiles knew that last barb was true -- even if the part about him and Scott was ridiculous -- but Isaac hadn't needed to point it out like a total douche. He suddenly couldn't stand being in the same room as Derek and his shitty friends, so he stood and darted out. Not running, but going as quickly as he could. If Derek wanted to come after him....

Well, Derek didn't come after him, not that Stiles had expected him to. Which was a good thing, because Stiles was already in tears by the time he slammed his bedroom door closed behind him. He'd endured worse jibes from Derek's stupid friends in the past, but this time it just seemed to have hit him harder than usual.

Well, he was upset that Derek had been ignoring him, and he was unhappy that his plans to annoy Derek into paying attention to him had been wrecked. And he was still lost in a welter of sexual confusion, because it was Derek's tight grip on his wrists and his heavy-hot weight pinning Stiles down that filled his head every time he jerked off lately, instead of Lydia Martin's long, strawberry blonde curls and her lush pink lips.

Stiles huddled on his bed, trying to _not_ cry and failing miserably. This was so _stupid_ , Isaac and Erica _weren't_ worth crying over, and yet he couldn't seem to _stop_.

He was laying on his belly, hugging a pillow to his hot face and still snuffling wet and miserable, about five minutes later when there came a knock at his door.

"Can I come in?" Derek called, loudly enough to be heard but sounding strangely tentative.

Stiles tried to yell "No," he really did. But his throat was tight and so he just kind of warbled the word through a bunch of snot and tears and by the time he'd gotten it out Derek had already opened his door and walked into his bedroom.

Dammit, Stiles really wished he had a lock on his knob. Derek got to lock his door if he wanted to. It was so unfair that Stiles didn't have the same choice.

Since he couldn't will Derek back outside his room, Stiles buried his face in his pillow again. He knew his nose was red and his eyes were all swollen and his cheeks were blotchy... in short he was a total mess. He didn't need Derek seeing that.

Despite his attempts to telepathically _force_ Derek to leave, Stiles felt the mattress dip next to his hip as his stepbrother evidently sat down beside him.

"Where are your friends?" Stiles asked, turning his head enough that he could speak intelligibly, though hopefully not enough that Derek could see how awful he looked.

Derek sighed, as though he was _so_ put upon, and it wasn't like Stiles had _made_ him come in here, in fact Stiles wanted him to _leave_.

"Erica and Boyd started making out so I told them to go home. Isaac's a jerk so I kicked him out too."

Stiles snorted, then almost choked on his snot. Gross. He sniffed and reached between his face and the pillow to scrub at his eyes. His entire face hurt and his head was beginning to pound, and he hated crying because it always made him feel worse, not better.

"They're _all_ jerks, all the time."

Derek didn't argue that, at least. 

"Are you okay?" he asked carefully, and Stiles startled a little as the warm weight of Derek's hand came to rest on his lower back. It felt strangely comforting and grounding, but it weirded him out that Derek was being kind of _nice_ to him.

"I'm not crying," he said defensively, still doing his best to hide in his pillow.

"Of course not." Derek didn't even try to sound like he believed Stiles, but at least he wasn't making fun of him. "It's just hormones."

Stiles glared over his shoulder at Derek, even though this meant Derek seeming how ugly his face looked right now.

"No, it's your friends being assholes, Derek!" he spat out.

Derek shrugged, his pale eyes fixed on Stiles' face, his thick eyebrows doing something intense that Stiles couldn't read. He didn't remove his hand, though, and Stiles had been careful when he had rolled toward Derek slightly, so that he hadn't unseated it.

He could count on one hand the number of times Derek had willingly touched him in all the years they'd been stepbrothers; not counting pushing and shoving, which happened from time to time. In fact, _no one_ really touched Stiles, other than their parents and sometimes Scott. So he thought he could be excused for reveling in this warm sensation and the feelings of pleasure and pressure the sensation of Derek's hand on his lower back sent to his dick....

Well, at least he was laying on his stomach. 

"I know they are," Derek said evenly, and he was still giving Stiles a strange look. His hand was rubbing slightly at Stiles' lower back, just above his butt, and Stiles was really beginning to get hard. 

Dammit.

"I don't like them," Stiles said plaintively, falling back onto his pillow. "You shouldn't be friends with them, Derek. You're kind of a jerk to me, but you're not _actually_ an asshole."

He was no longer looking at Derek. It was strange enough getting a hard-on because Derek was touching him; it would be even stranger to be staring in his eyes while it happened.

Derek was silent, and Stiles could feel his fingers curling where they were resting on his back.

"I think that's the nicest thing you've said to me in a while," he finally said, and Stiles honestly couldn't read his tone of voice.

Stiles sniffed. "Well, you haven't even spoken to me in a week," he pointed out, and then he regretted it deeply when Derek pulled his hand away. At least he didn't whip it off like he'd been burned. It was more a slow slide that did even more to send tingles through Stiles' erection.

"Come back downstairs," Derek said, standing and hovering awkwardly beside the bed. Stiles wasn't looking at him, but he could tell it was awkward. "Have some more pizza. We can watch a movie or something."

Stiles thought about it. This was a peace offering of some sort, and he thought that maybe Derek felt bad about what his friends had said...?

But there was still his hard-on to consider. That wasn't just going to go away.

"Let me wash my face first," he said, peering over his shoulder again. "Okay?"

Derek nodded and left Stiles in his room. 

Stiles was totally jerking off before he joined Derek downstairs, but Derek didn't need to know that. It was necessary, though.

So, Derek wasn't ignoring him anymore, Stiles thought as he rolled over and stuck his hand down his pants. That was good. Even though he wasn't sure he was too happy about the way it had happened.

On the one hand, Derek knew that Stiles had cried like a stupid baby over some insults that were actually more clumsy and heavy-handed than anything else.

But on the other hand, Derek had kicked his friends out and was willingly spending time with Stiles.

Overall he was going to count it a win, Stiles decided. But that was only if he could get off quickly enough that Derek wasn't suspicious.

Speed wasn't going to be a problem. Not with the imprint of Derek's hand still lingering on his back and the smell of Derek in his bedroom, Stiles thought, palming his dick with a little whine in the back of his throat. Speed wasn't going to be any kind of issue at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I myself prefer bb Dylan, but we gotta admit, bb Posey _was_ pretty!


	3. Chapter 3

It took Stiles ten minutes to come downstairs but Derek was kind of relieved that he came down at all so he didn't comment on the time or the redness of Stiles' face or the fact that for some reason he'd changed his clothes.

"Pizza's cold," he said, indicating the box that was still resting on the coffee table.

"I like cold pizza," Stiles said, padding into the room, long, pale feet sinking into the shag carpeting.

Derek snorted. "Oh yeah, because you're a freak."

And, okay, maybe it wasn't the smartest idea, insulting Stiles when he'd so recently been in tears over Derek's friends doing the same, Derek thought belatedly. But Stiles just scoffed and grabbed the plate he'd set aside, piling some more pizza on it and then settling on the sofa beside Derek. Not near enough to be annoying but not all the way on the edge like when he'd come down earlier.

"What are we watching?" Stiles asked, curling his legs up and tucking his feet under his thighs. Erica really had been a bitch, Derek thought with annoyance. Stiles was only thirteen and he was still growing. He wasn't _that_ skinny. 

"I put in the latest Batman movie," Derek said. He knew that Stiles would recognize it for the silent apology it was, but just in case that slipped past him, he offered, "Unless there's something else you wanna watch."

Stiles shook his head and stuffed a huge bite of greasy pizza in his mouth.

Derek took that as tactic permission to proceed, and so he hit "play" and settled back with a soda and a couple of careful, carefully covert glances at his younger stepbrother.

Stiles looked okay now. Even though his face was still blotchy and flushed, and his nose was pink. His lips looked bitten and swollen, and his hair was a mess. He looked....

Dammit, except for his raw nose, more than anything he looked like he'd just been fucked.

Derek grimaced, snapping his attention to the screen, making an effort to actually _watch_ the movie, even though it wasn't anything close to being his favorite, the way it was Stiles'.

He'd tried so hard not to think about Stiles like that in the past week. He'd gone so far as to invite his friends over in an attempt to not spend time alone with Stiles tonight.

And _that_ had ended well. With Stiles in tears and Derek running his friends out of the house. Isaac had been kind of bitchy about it, but Erica and Boyd hadn't minded. They'd gotten fed and hadn't had to do any more studying, after all. Derek was pretty sure they were having sex _right now_ , but he didn't want to think about that too hard. 

Thinking about sex at all while sitting next to Stiles was really not the best idea, Derek realized uncomfortably, clasping his soda in both hands so that his wrists were resting over his crotch. He was still wallowing in visions of pinning Stiles down and.... Well, that was as far as he let his imagination go, because there was a line and he'd already crossed it a week ago.

Stiles finished eating and set his plate down on top of the empty pizza box. Derek could see Stiles sucking the pepperoni grease off of his lean fingers, wet and sloppy, out of the corner of his eye, and he could feel his cheeks burn. His cock was definitely threatening to pop a full hard-on, and he kind of wished he hadn't asked Stiles to come back downstairs.

But he couldn't have left Stiles to cry and go hungry upstairs, could he? And he'd sort of felt like he'd had to try to make things up to Stiles for how rude his friends had been. Sure, Stiles could be annoying, and had been in the past, but he hadn't been doing anything other than sitting and quietly eating when Isaac and Erica had started in on him, and they'd made him _cry_.

And, yeah, Derek remembered being a giant ball of hormones when he'd been thirteen. Even though he'd been more inclined to be rage-filled and break things than to break down in tears, he thought he knew how Stiles felt. And the teasing really had been unnecessarily harsh.

"Hey, Derek," Stiles said, shifting where he sat and wiping his saliva-slick hands on his jeans in a way that was more gross than sexual. He looked over, his eyes wide and his expression open and strangely vulnerable. "People don't... really think... _that_ about Scott and me, do they?"

Derek frowned, having to cast his mind back in order to figure out what Stiles was talking about. Then he recalled what Erica and Isaac had said, and his frown deepened.

Stiles fidgeted, plucking at the hem of his jeans with his nimble fingers and chewed-down nails. "I mean, it'd suck if people thought Scott was gay because of me," he added, and Derek arched a brow.

"He's not," Stiles assured Derek earnestly, as though _that_ was what Derek had an issue with.

Well, he hadn't have any real issue with anything. He was just a little surprised that Stiles was so self aware. He hadn't thought his stepbrother had figured out that he was gay already. Or, well, more likely bisexual, considering the whole Lydia Martin mega-crush.

Then again, maybe Derek was reading more into this than was there. Stiles always seemed to think of others before himself, even though he came off seeming self-involved to those who didn't know him well, so it only made sense that he was more concerned with McCall's reputation than his own. Whether or not he felt the accusations were true.

"I don't think anyone thinks _anything_ about the two of you," he replied automatically, then winced a little. That had been bordering on cruel. Even if it was true, he maybe shouldn't have said it like that. He didn't want to send Stiles crying to his room again.

Thankfully, Stiles just pulled a nasty face at him, and reached over to smack his arm. 

"Just 'cause we're not super-popular, doesn't mean no one notices us," he informed Derek haughtily, his thin chest puffing up, pointed chin raised. Then he deflated as he continued, "It's the least popular kids who get picked on the worst, you know."

Derek felt his brows crunching in a deep scowl. "Is someone picking on you?" he asked fiercely. It was one thing for him to mess with his stepbrother in their own home, but no one _else_ had better be messing with Stiles!

For all he didn't really feel like they were siblings, Derek definitely felt possessive of Stiles. The kid looked so fragile, even though Derek knew he was tougher than he appeared, and to think of asshole classmates pushing him around and calling him names... well, it made Derek's blood boil.

"Um, _your friends_ do," Stiles said, snotty and still kind of stuffy-nosed which made him sound literally snotty. Not that he didn't have a point.

"I meant at school," Derek clarified, in tones that clearly stated he thought Stiles was an idiot. Stiles wasn't in high school yet so the only time Derek's friends could pick on him was here, in their home, where Derek could keep an eye on them... and kick them out if they got too rude, like had just happened.

"What do you care?" Stiles asked, scowling at Derek. "Wouldn't you rather pretend I don't exist?"

Derek scowled back. That was a low blow but he couldn't really protest it. Not after having spent the past week doing his best to do just that.

"I'm sitting here watching a movie with you, aren't I?" he snapped.

Stiles pulled an ugly face. "You don't even like this movie," he said stridently. "I'm going back upstairs!"

"No, you're not."

Derek moved fast as Stiles unfolded himself and scooted toward the edge of the sofa seat, grabbing his smaller stepbrother and plopping him right back down where he'd been before... or maybe a little closer to Derek. So that he could get a hold of him if he moved to leave again, of course. No other reason.

"Hey!" Stiles squalled, but he didn't actually do anything other than flail a little, almost hitting Derek in the nose, before he settled down and just _sat_ where he'd been put.

"Stay there," Derek directed, trying to ignore the burst of heat zinging through his body at the way he'd just manhandled Stiles. It hadn't been as bad an idea as pinning him to the floor had been, but he probably shouldn't have done it nonetheless. Well, too late now.

"You're not the boss of me," Stiles complained, but he stayed, pulling his legs back up onto the cushion with him again. 

Derek slouched and did the best he could to hide the fact that he was half hard, watching out of the corner of his eye while Stiles curled up, knees raised, hunching over his own lap, his cheeks burning as he stared at the television screen. Presumably he was watching the movie, but Derek sort of thought Stiles was paying as much attention to it as he was. And he had to wonder if Stiles had positioned his body the way he had in order to hide a hard-on too. It was a distinct possibility....

Stiles hadn't gotten around to answering Derek's question about the bullying, Derek realized after a few minutes, frowning, and he had little doubt that was deliberate. The kid was way too good at deflection. Derek was going to have to pin him down -- though not literally, because that way lay disaster -- at some point in the future and force an answer out of him.

Or maybe he'd ask Scott. Scott was pretty easy to break and wasn't adept at lying and misleading the way Stiles was. Derek also didn't want to literally pin Scott down and... well.

Derek wasn't sure what he'd do if Stiles _was_ being bullied. It wasn't like he could go lurking around the junior high. It might be a bad idea to tell their parents, but he was getting old enough that he didn't really care about being labeled a snitch. He'd be headed to college next year, and the idea of Stiles being picked on at school, now or while he was gone, just didn't sit right with him.

Maybe he shouldn't ask if Stiles if he was getting picked on; maybe he should ask _who was picking on him_. A point-blank question like that was harder to avoid, even for slippery Stiles.

But not right now. He'd made Stiles sit down to finish out the film with him, and he shouldn't keep pestering him to the point that he couldn't really watch it.

Derek tried, he tried really hard to turn his attention to the movie. Even if he'd already seen it and knew what happened, watching it was preferable to obsessing over the thirteen year old sitting next to him on the sofa....

Which was totally what he was doing, Derek realized. He could hear Stiles softly breathing, even over the explosions onscreen. And Stiles smelled like soap, which was a little weird. He was a kid; cleanliness wasn't exactly his highest priority, not normally. 

Derek could smell Stiles' skin underneath the fake scent of their bathroom soap, salty and almost strong enough to be unpleasant, but mostly just viscerally gripping. Derek might think of Stiles as a child sometimes, and he was still small and slender, but he _was_ a teenager, which meant that his body was pumping out the hormones and making the changes necessary to bring him to adulthood.

These hormones were definitely the reason Stiles had run to his room in tears earlier today, Derek thought with a certain amount of exasperated fondness. The kid had fielded worse insults from both Erica and Isaac before in the past, slinging his own pointed barbs back at them pretty successfully. Derek didn't want to admit to being impressed by this but, well, sometimes he had been.

After about ten minutes had passed, Derek was relieved to note that his hard-on was fading, it was almost gone, and then he noticed a slow, rhythmic movement in his periphery. He glanced over to see that Stiles' lean fingers were wrapped around his own wrist, tightening then loosening, tightening then loosening....

And all of a sudden his cock was straining against his fly again, and even though he was sitting in a way that disguised this fact Derek was terrified that Stiles was going to see somehow. But he didn't dare to move, because then Stiles really _would_ see.

It was the situation on the floor all over again, when he'd pinned Stiles down the week before, and Derek began to sweat, literally, because remembering that was _not_ helping him with his problem right now!

Stiles didn't even seem to be aware of what he was doing. The bruises Derek had left on his pale skin were gone, as far as Derek could tell, and Stiles was wearing a teeshirt, didn't have sleeves down to his knuckles. Derek could see his wrist clearly, could see the way Stiles' hand circled it all the way. Stiles had big hands for his age, and yet his fingers couldn't _engulf_ his wrist the way Derek's had done....

Derek struggled to control his body, trying not to breathe too heavily, trying not to reach over and wrap his own hand around Stiles' wrist again, the way he had done a week ago.

God, did Stiles _want_ Derek to? Even if the kid wasn't aware of what he was doing, holding his own wrist like that indicated at least a subconscious desire to be pinned down and held again... right?

Derek could feel his face heating up, perspiration prickling in his armpits and at his temples. It was so stupid and so _gross_ to be getting turned on by his thirteen year old stepbrother. And yet Derek felt as though if he shifted wrong he'd be shooting off in his underwear before he could help himself, he was that close to coming.

Just from the sight of Stiles squeezing his own wrist, and the memory of having had Stiles pinned underneath him on their disgusting shag carpeting.

Derek had tried to forget about what had happened, and had ended up jerking off to the memory all week. He'd tried to ignore Stiles and he was pretty sure he'd managed to legitimately hurt the kid's feelings. Maybe _that_ was why Erica and Isaac had driven Stiles to flee the living room in tears.

So denial wasn't working out for him. But what could he do? Even if it was in his nature to confront a problem head-on -- which, for the record, it wasn't -- he could hardly turn to Stiles and say something. For one thing, what would he say? _Stop squeezing your wrist?_ Stiles would think he was crazy. _Do you want to touch my hard-on? Do you want me to touch yours?_ Then Stiles would know for sure what a pervert he was.

Hell. Derek was in hell, right now. And he couldn't see any way out of it.

Teasing Stiles while he'd had him pinned down had been bold, but it had been something that Derek had indulged in during the heat of the moment. It wasn't something he could deliberately repeat. Not without hating himself forever.

At least the movie was finally coming to an end. Stiles was still squeezing his wrist and Derek was still leaking in his boxer briefs. If it got much worse it would seep through his jeans and Stiles would be able to see the mess he was causing Derek to make. 

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._

At least Stiles seemed to have all of his attention on the movie and wasn't looking at Derek the way Derek kept looking at him. Small favors.

And then Stiles stopped squeezing his wrist, which was good, but the next thing Derek knew, Stiles was pressing his left thumb to the swell of his lower lip, which was just as bad, in a different way.

He wasn't sucking his thumb, but he was only a centimeter or less from doing so, the tip of his thumb playing with the sensual curve of his upper lip, and Derek's imagination was more than willing to supply the rest. 

It should have looked silly. It should have reminded Derek of when Stiles had been young and tiny and very much prepubescent. But it didn't. It looked sexual to Derek. Maybe only because that was where his mind was right now... but did the reason matter when his reaction was the same?

Derek cursed his unruly cock. He wanted to get off so badly, but he _couldn't_. Not with Stiles sitting right there next to him, completely oblivious to the effect he was having on his older stepbrother.

Derek was supposed to be babysitting Stiles, not lusting after him. Not visualizing what it would be like to pin Stiles down again; maybe on the sofa this time, or one of their beds.

Oh, shit, and now that _that_ had crossed his mind, Derek couldn't get the idea out of his head. The mattress would cushion Stiles' back, and be giving under Derek's knees. He could hold Stiles' wrists firmly but more gently this time, not leave bruises.

Though the way Stiles had been squeezing his wrist just now... had he really minded the bruising?

Stiles smelled good, but if Derek pinned him down on his bed he'd smell even better. He'd smell like sweat and arousal and he'd smell a little bit like Derek, from rolling around on Derek's sheets....

Oh, shit, could Stiles smell Derek's arousal right now? 

That was just paranoia, and yet it ate away at Derek's brain as the movie wound up to its climax. He was pretty sure he could smell himself; he was sitting there in a welter of frustrated arousal, and his balls were starting to _ache_.

Stiles was staring raptly at the screen, mouth hanging open, mesmerized despite the fact that he'd already seen this movie. His thumb wasn't against his lip any longer, but Derek was all too easily able to visualize sliding his own thumb into Stiles' open mouth... or something else.

_Fuck._

The minute the movie finished and the ending credits started rolling Derek was up off the sofa and headed for his room as fast as he could move with a demanding hard-on pressed against the front of his jeans.

"Derek," Stiles called after him, and Derek paused at the doorway, turning to look over his shoulder, careful to keep his crotch tilted away from the living room.

Stiles was kneeling up on the sofa, peering over its back at him, all wide, wet eyes and his mouth was hanging open again. 

"Where are you going?" he wanted to know.

"To my room," Derek snapped shortly.

Stiles shut his mouth but his chin crumpled as though he would start crying again so that wasn't exactly a good thing. There was no way Derek was letting the kid manipulate him into staying, though. Not when he was ready to jizz in his jeans. He needed to go upstairs and jerk off immediate; half an hour ago, in fact.

"But you wanted me to come down..." Stiles said, and he didn't sound like he was going to cry, but he did sound sad and small. And so very young. Which just made Derek feel even more like a pervert.

Because he _was_ a pervert.

And because he was an asshole as well, he just fled to his bedroom without giving Stiles any kind of a definitive answer. 

What could he do, after all; tell him the truth? 

+=+=+

Stiles felt kind of shitty as he watched Derek vanish up the stairs. But... well, even if Derek was leaving him down here, at least he didn't seem to be ignoring him any longer?

Unless he went right back to ignoring him after their parents got home.

Stiles sighed heavily and flopped onto the sofa, bringing up Netflix on the entertainment system and searching for something to watch. Derek had left his homework on the coffee table, so he hadn't gone upstairs to work on that. He really _had_ just wanted to get away from Stiles, then.

Stiles couldn't settle on anything to watch, his mind full of squirming thoughts of Derek, of how Derek had deserted him down here, but how he'd chased his friends out of the house when they'd been mean to Stiles, of how he'd been ignoring Stiles for a week, of how his hand had felt resting heavy and warm at the small of Stiles' back while he'd been laying face-down on his bed....

And that memory led to Stiles reliving how Derek had pinned him to the floor a week ago, and then next thing he knew, his dick was all hard again. 

Dammit.

Switching off the tee vee, Stiles contemplated his situation.

Without his meaning it too, his thumb had slotted into his mouth and he was sucking on it lightly. It was the comforting kind of thumb-sucking, not the desperately sexual kind, and so he whipped his hand away as soon as he noticed and rubbed his thumb dry on his jeans. He felt like a big baby for having caught himself sucking his thumb, and he was a million times glad neither Derek nor Derek's friends had seen that.

He was still hard in his pants, and he thought he wanted to go to his room and jerk off while thinking about Derek holding him down. But the living room was a mess, and even though Derek's friends had been assholes, and even though Stiles was still upset that Derek had gone upstairs as soon as the movie had finished, Derek _had_ kicked his friends out and he'd extended the proverbial olive branch in putting the movie on for Stiles in the first place, and Stiles didn't _really_ want him to get in trouble....

So Stiles ignored his burgeoning hard-on for as long as it took to clean up the half-full soda cans that Isaac, Erica, and Boyd had left laying around. He recycled the empty pizza boxes. And he stacked Derek's homework neatly, secretly hoping that he was messing up Derek's system, because Derek still kind of deserved it for being a jerk and ignoring him for a week.

 _Then_ , once all that was accomplished, Stiles made his way upstairs. He paused outside Derek's door, listening intently through the wood, but all he could hear was some muffled music.

Sighing heavily, Stiles went to his bedroom to jerk off and finish his Friday homework. And then he'd probably jerk off again, because he was thirteen and his stepbrother was hot like burning and had voluntarily touched him earlier.

At least Derek wasn't ignoring Stiles anymore. And if he started up again the next time they were sharing space....

Well, Stiles still had his plan, which he hadn't had a chance to implement tonight. So there was that.

He kind of wished that Derek _wanted_ to spend time with him, though. Forced family members or not. But Stiles was used to wishing for things he couldn't have.

At least he had his imagination. And his memories. Of Derek pinning him to the floor and rubbing his fine ass all over Stiles' erection, his hands clenched tightly around Stiles' wrists... and also of the softer, more gentle pressure of his hand on Stiles' lower back, just a couple of hours ago.

Stiles jerked it to the memory of both, and came so hard he saw stars. Then after a brief recovery period he did it over again, slower. So all in all, the evening wasn't a total loss. 

+=+=+

Derek had always hated using the shower after Stiles. Back when they'd been younger it had been because the kid loved to play in there and always used up all the hot water and because Derek was convinced Stiles was peeing in the stall.

Now that they were both teenagers, it was still all of that, but it was also knowing for almost absolute certain that the reason Stiles was taking so long wasn't because he was playing but because he was _getting off_.

They might have their own bedrooms -- thank God for that -- but Stiles didn't have a working lock on his doorknob, and so the shower was prime time for masturbation. Not to mention all the running hot water was sensual _and_ it helped with clean up afterward far more handily than dealing with a messy bed and tissues or toilet paper.

And, fuck, now Derek was thinking about what Stiles' sheets might smell like. If they were anything like his own, they smelled of teenage sweat and spunk and probably needed to be laundered more often than they were.

To be perfectly honest, Derek couldn't blame their mother for making doing their own laundry one of their weekly chores. If he were her, he was sure he wouldn't have wanted to touch his own sheets, much less Stiles' sheets.

Of course, the fact that they had to do their own laundry meant that a fair amount of the time it didn't get done. Even though there were clean sheets right in the linen closet. Stiles was only thirteen; making his bed was way at the bottom of his priority list, even when it was a set task.

The fact that he was curious about Stiles' sheets was a deviation and so wrong that Derek felt his face flush hot with shame, even though he was just sitting alone in his bedroom.

Stiles had been in the shower for over twenty minutes now. Derek knew, because he had his bedroom door open, listening to hear when Stiles finished. He didn't really _need_ to shower before they went out, because they were just doing the weekly grocery shopping, but he _wanted_ to bathe.

Partially because he wanted to do the same thing Stiles was undoubtedly doing.... But mostly because he felt like his hair needed washing. Even though he was coming up close on being an adult, Derek was still going through puberty, and that meant he was more greasy than he liked more of the time than he liked.

Giving in to temptation, Derek rose and padded barefoot out of his room, down the hall, and to Stiles' bedroom. The door was ajar, as though inviting him to enter, but he paused there, uncertain.

He'd entered easily enough the day before, when he'd gone in to check on Stiles after his friends had driven the kid away in tears. But then he'd knocked and... well, he hadn't been invited, true, but Stiles hadn't said not to come in. Also, Stiles had _been in his room_ at the time.

Right now Stiles was in the shower, probably touching himself. After having been in there twenty minutes, after all, he couldn't _possibly_ still be soaping up his scrawny little body.

Derek sighed heavily, inadvertently getting a nose-full of Stiles' scent. And that was. Well.

It shouldn't have been pleasant. In some ways it wasn't. Stiles' bedroom smelled like teenage boy -- a teenage boy who was jerking off a lot -- which was pungent, but not rank. Derek was familiar with this scent, and he was pretty sure that was why his Mom insisted both of them clean their own rooms.

And _that_ fact was why Stiles' room was such a mess. Derek stepped inside, still acutely attuned to the sound of the shower running down the hall behind him, and glanced around. There was clothing strew _everywhere_ , there were empty mugs and bowls sitting on Stiles' desk and bookshelves -- even though their Mom gave them extra hell for that -- and comics and books were laying on the floor as well as on the furniture. The bedclothes were half off the mattress, and about the only thing that looked neat was the homework Stiles had piled on one half of his otherwise messy desk.

Derek bent to pick up a discarded shirt, thinking for a moment it was his. The mere idea of Stiles in Derek's clothes made a surge of intense heat burst through his core and had his cock jump inside his jeans, and even though the shirt turned out to be Stiles' after all, now Derek had that image in his head and it wasn't going away.

Derek lifted the shirt to his nose, knowing that this was a gamble, but when he sniffed it all he smelled was boy-sweat and the deodorant that their Mom insisted Stiles start using. It was a scent that said "Stiles" to Derek, and his cock ached for some attention.

The shower cut off unexpectedly, and Derek dropped the shirt he was holding and darted back to his own bedroom, closing the door behind him. It would take Stiles a few minutes to dry off and dress, of course, but there was no way Derek was getting caught in his younger stepbrother's bedroom, sniffing his clothes like a gigantic creeper.

Derek palmed his throbbing erection, straining to listen through the wood. He could whip it out now and get himself off in minutes, but why do that when he could wait until he was in the shower? Its walls all hot and the air still humid and filled with the smell of Stiles getting himself off in there.... Yeah, that last was probably all in Derek's imagination, but damned if he wasn't going to breathe in deeply while he stroked his cock and coaxed his orgasm out of himself.

And if he also visualized Stiles on his knees, those plush red lips stretched around the shaft, his cheeks hollowed as he sucked, his lashes starred on pink cheeks... well, no one else would ever know.

Derek was feeling increasingly less guilty about his deviant thoughts. But still no closer to acting on them, because there was no way he was doing that to Stiles. Just no way. 

+=+=+

The Stilinski-Hale family was late getting out grocery shopping because Derek took a late shower, which he blamed on Stiles having taken so long before him, which was totally unfair, and both their parents were cranky, but Stiles _still_ had to fight to keep the grin off his face as they drove to the store in the early afternoon.

Because Derek might be blaming Stiles for their late start, but he was _talking_ to Stiles, paying attention to him. Stiles had been _so_ afraid that he'd end up being ignored again, and he was _so_ glad that it wasn't happening.

He still couldn't figure out why Derek had deserted him the moment the Batman movie was over, but that didn't matter as long as Derek didn't go back to avoiding him and giving him the silent treatment.

"Boys, do you need shampoo? Soap?" their mother asked as the made their way into the produce section and their Dad started squeezing avocados. Stiles hoped he was planning on making guacamole soon. His Dad's guacamole was epic.

"Not really," Derek grumbled, at the same time Stiles wondered, "Why do you ask?"

Talia lifted one brow and pursed her lips in that way that meant she was biting back a smirk. "Because both of you have been spending an awful lot of time in the shower lately."

Stiles turned bright red as their Dad snickered, and Derek immediately jumped to the defensive. 

"I told you, I was late because Stiles was in there too long."

Stiles pushed Derek -- which had all the effect of pushing a wall -- annoyed by his whining. Although he was at least glad that both their parents seemed to be in better moods now, even though they were using their better moods in order to mock their sons' bathing habits. As if Talia didn't know exactly _why_ he and Derek both spent extra time in the shower!

Well, Stiles supposed that was kind of the whole point.

Talia didn't argue with Derek, just patted his shoulder, then said, "Well, if you don't need bath supplies, go and help Stiles pick out some shaving gel and razors. It looks as though he's going to need them soon."

Derek snorted, making his opinion on that known. Stiles could feel his cheeks burning even more hotly, not least of all because of the surprised, speculative look on his Dad's face as he stared at Stiles. He couldn't help lifting his hand and rubbing the area under his nose. Maybe it was a little more fuzzy than it used to be... but he still didn't feel as though he was going to need to start shaving any time in the near future.

"Come on," Derek directed, giving a jerk of his head and setting off in the direction of toiletries.

"But I wanted to help pick out the ice cream," Stiles protested. He wasn't whining, he _wasn't_. He just hadn't come on this shopping trip expecting to be teased and humiliated by most if not all of his family members.

"If you don't dawdle you can finish in time to choose your own ice cream," his Dad spoke up, and who even used the word _"dawdle"_?! His father, ladies and gentlemen.

"Come _on_ ," Derek repeated, sounding way more irritated than the situation warranted, and Stiles was about to tell him as much, but in the next instant Derek snatched up one of Stiles' wrists and began dragging him through the store. 

Words kind of deserted Stiles at that point, his entire being focused on the feeling of Derek's fingers digging into the thin skin and prominent bones of his wrist, holding on far more tightly than was warranted.

In fact, as Stiles feet caught up with his brain and he managed to get moving after his stepbrother, Derek really ought to have let go... but he didn't.

Stiles didn't _want_ Derek to let go, and so he did his best to keep up, making sure he didn't tug at his captive arm, didn't inadvertently give Derek the idea that he wanted to pull free.

Derek was still holding on as they came to a halt in front of the shaving supplies, and Stiles crowded in close, trying to disguise the fact that Derek was clutching at his wrist as they stood there, even though there was no one in this aisle. Just in case, he didn't want it to look like... well, like what it was.

They stood there for almost a full minute, not speaking, and Stiles could hear that Derek was breathing a little heavily. It made him flush and made his dick twitch in his jeans, especially in combination with the pressure around his wrist. Derek's hand was flexing and squeezing on the painful side of too tight and Stiles was in serious danger of popping an actual boner because of it, even though he'd gotten off in the shower twice before they'd left the house.

Which, yeah, was why he'd taken so long and why they'd gotten a late start, so Derek did sort of have a point, but Stiles wasn't about to let him know that he was right.

"So, pick something out," Derek said harshly, after the silence had stretched on far past what could have possibly been considered normal. Stiles was flushed and kept his face toward the display of shaving creams and gels and razors, but he was hyper-aware of the heat of Derek next to him. Derek's body was a hard, hot line of incredible muscles and Stiles suddenly realized he was kind of leaning into him, and that Derek wasn't pushing him away or telling him to back off.

"What do _you_ use?" Stiles asked, as much because he was completely clueless as because he felt the need to stall. 

"You've seen it in the bathroom," Derek said, but his voice was low and intimate in the silent space between them, and he didn't sound irritated any longer, just kind of distracted. 

"They all look the same here," Stiles complained, because it was true, he was staring at a wall of varied shaving supplies that all looked alike, and he sure as hell didn't pay a huge amount of attention to what kind of product his stepbrother used in the bathroom.

Derek sighed and Stiles frowned, but he still didn't dare to meet Derek's eyes. 

"That one," Derek said, pointing at a blue can that looked pretty much the same as all the rest with his free hand. "But that's for a thicker beard, which you're definitely not going to need. You're probably going to want something for sensitive skin."

Stiles bit his lower lip and tried really hard to focus on the shaving supplies in front of him instead of the cruel dig of Derek's fingers into his wrist and the warmth of his body beside him. They were still standing way too close, but neither of them moved away, and no one was around to see.

"I like the way your stuff smells, though," Stiles murmured, turning his head toward Derek and breathing in deeply, even though he kept his gaze on the shaving gel in question. His cheeks blazed and his stomach twisted at his own boldness, but he didn't want to take it back.

Derek didn't shove him away and call him a pervert or anything. He nodded, Stiles could see the flicker of movement in his peripheral vision, and then he turned his own head toward Stiles and Stiles was pretty sure that Derek hadn't just nuzzled the crown of his head in the middle of the grocery store, but he was also pretty sure that he'd just been sniffed in turn.

"You don't need to be too picky," Derek said, and Stiles' stomach swooped as his fingers loosened and slid away from his wrist. "You'll do fine with another kind. Just get the same brand if you like the smell, okay?"

Stiles nodded numbly, barely even processing what they were talking about, and he held completely still as Derek took a step away from him, then reached and ran the pad of his index finger over the skin above his upper lip. Stiles had just done the same, but it felt a million times different when Derek did it, sending tingles through all of Stiles' body.

"Huh." Derek's eyes were intent on Stiles' face, and Stiles stared up at him, knowing that his mouth had just fallen open but unable to control his jaw enough to close it. "I guess maybe you _do_ need to start shaving after all."

There was a bloom of red all along Derek's high cheekbones and the tips of his ears were pink, and Stiles stared in fascination, somehow unable to drag his eyes away. Derek had lowered his hand and they weren't touching anywhere now, but Stiles could feel the phantom echo of Derek's finger brushing his upper lip gently, and he could feel the pulse of his own blood in the probable bruising ringing his wrist where his hand had so recently been.

Suddenly Stiles needed more than anything to go into the grocery store bathroom and jerk off. He grabbed the first can of shaving cream that said "sensitive skin" and was the same brand Derek used.

"You should probably use gel," Derek said, distracted by this quick movement, a little frown creasing the skin between his thick brows. And that look, that adorable expression, was the final nail in the coffin as far as Stiles' dick was concerned.

"Fine," he said, slamming the can back down, and knowing that he sounded angry when really he was just desperate, "Pick one out for me, then."

And before Derek could respond, Stiles made a bee-line for the restrooms. He might get in trouble for ordering Derek around and for not choosing his own shaving supplies, and he might not get to pick out the ice cream he wanted, but by God he was going to get off!

Thankfully, this grocery store had one of those bathrooms that was self-contained and not the kind that had urinals and several stalls. It also had a fan that kicked on when someone came in and flicked on the lights. Stiles locked the door, then paused and peeled back his shirt sleeve to look at his wrist.

There was no bruising... yet... but the skin was pink and he hoped. He hoped it would bruise, no matter how perverted that made him seem, even in the privacy of his own head.

There was nothing glamorous about getting off in the grocery store restroom, but Stiles was a horny teenager who'd just been manhandled and sniffed by a walking wet dream that he happened to share living space with at home, so he didn't really feel he had any choice in the matter. 

When and how Derek had gone from being his annoying stepbrother to being someone that Stiles was actively lusting over... Stiles wasn't sure. But it had happened, and he wanted. He wanted so much that it ached, in his heart as well as his dick.

A quick jerk off session, some cold water splashed on his face, and Stiles didn't exactly feel ready to face the world -- most especially Derek -- but he didn't really have any choice. He couldn't hide in the grocery restroom for the rest of the shopping trip.

It felt like hours before Stiles ventured forth in search of his family, but he'd really been in there less than six minutes. Well, he was a teenaged boy who'd been really turned on; it hadn't taken him long at all to get off.

"There you are, sweetie," their Mom said as Stiles slunk up and glanced in the cart. Derek had chosen him a shaving gel for sensitive skin, some quality razors, and a "soothing" after-shaving lotion for sensitive skin. Stiles unconsciously reached up to finger his chin. He kind of thought Derek was overdoing it, but he wasn't sure whether he was making a snide point or if he really was worried about his younger stepbrother's baby-face.

Daring to look at Derek did nothing to enlighten him. He was watching Stiles with heavy-lidded eyes that seemed darker than usual, even in the florescent lighting of the store, and he looked away the moment Stiles caught his gaze. Stiles blushed and hoped Derek wasn't too pissed off at him. His expression was blank, so it was hard to say.

"You should thank Derek," Talia said, running her fingers through Stiles' hair, then tightening and tugging lightly the way she did when she wanted his full attention. Maybe that was where Derek got his tendency to use physical force to achieve the same effect.

Then again, Stiles' Dad would grab him by his nape when he thought Stiles wasn't giving him his full attention, so it was probably just a family thing.

"Thanks, Derek," Stiles said, and he actually meant it, because he really had bailed on his stepbrother... even though it had kind of been an emergency. An emergency that Derek and his sexiness had caused.

Derek shrugged, folded his arms, and said nothing.

Their Mom sighed, rolled her eyes, then sent Derek to go and fetch her some chocolate chips, because she'd missed grabbing them while she'd been in that aisle earlier. Stiles' Dad ruffled his hair absently as Talia picked out some pasta. Stiles stared at the shaving gel in the cart and wondered if he could ask Derek to show him how to use it... Yeah, he could figure it out on his own, or look online, but the thought of standing in the bathroom, with Derek right there, touching his face, guiding his movements.... Well, Stiles couldn't help but want that. Want badly.

When it was time to choose dessert, Stiles made sure to get Derek's favorite flavor of ice cream. Again, Derek didn't say anything, but Stiles was sure that he had noticed.

He didn't know if his ice cream choice was meant as an apology or something else, but it meant _something_. Honestly, Stiles was just glad Derek wasn't still ignoring him.

Maybe he could figure out exactly what his feelings were regarding Derek later. Though Stiles had a tummy-twisting sensation that he already knew what it was he wanted from his stepbrother.... 

Too bad he was absolutely certain that he would never get it. And God help him if Derek ever found out.


	4. Chapter 4

"Derek?"

Derek tore his attention away from the show he was watching, glancing over the back of the sofa at where Stiles was hanging on the living room entryway. Literally hanging.

"Yeah?" he grunted, feigning disinterest, even though his eyes were running over Stiles' long legs, bare and pale under his boxers, lingering at the way his lean fingers were clinging to the wood of the door frame.

Stiles fidgeted, gnawing on his lower lip, his cheeks bright and pink, his eyes wide.

"What?" Derek prodded again, scowling. He knew he looked less than encouraging, but it wasn't like Stiles ever needed any encouragement to speak his mind. He couldn't help it. Seeing Stiles in his underwear and a loose teeshirt, his lips red and plump, made Derek's cock twitch in interest, and that wasn't cool.

"Could you...." Stiles balanced on one leg and rubbed his shin with the opposite foot, thigh muscles flexing, looking uncommonly shy for him. Then again, he and Derek didn't usually talk unless they were sniping at each other, and Stiles didn't seem as though he was going to say anything snide right now.

So Derek tried to tone down his own aggression, reminding himself that Stiles was a kid still, and even though he was annoying as hell he was Derek's stepbrother and they had to live with each other.

"What do you want?" he asked, trying not to sound bitchy. It was interesting, the way Stiles' face bloomed red with this simple question, but Derek had given up trying to understand Stiles years ago.

"I was wondering if you could... um... show me how to shave?"

Derek blinked. That was really something Stiles' Dad ought to be doing, and besides;

"It's the middle of the afternoon," he pointed out. Just because their Mom had made Stiles pick out some shaving stuff -- and then Stiles had deserted Derek in the store and left _him_ to do it -- that didn't mean Stiles had to go and use it right away. He didn't even really have anything to shave off yet.

"I know," Stiles said, swaying on one foot, the other tucked up behind his knee, looking far more graceful than he usually did. Probably because he wasn't thinking about it. He also looked disturbingly tempting, but Derek was trying his hardest to ignore that fact. "But tomorrow morning _I'm_ gonna be sleeping in even if _you're_ crazy enough to go jogging early. And then on Monday we'll both be in a hurry to get ready and get to school. So now is really the best time...."

"Except that I was watching something," Derek pointed out, then he felt like an asshole when Stiles' face fell, hopeful expression slipping away. That wasn't even really fair; he didn't actually care that much about the show he had on. Not that Stiles knew that, but still.

"Sorry," Sties mumbled, foot falling to the floor with a thunk. He turned to leave, and Derek called out before he could stop himself.

"Hang on."

Stiles froze and turned around again. Derek allowed himself a moment to feel a rush of power. Stiles _never_ obeyed, never listened when Derek gave him orders, barely paid attention when their parents told him to do something. And yet he was doing it now, because Derek had spoken up.

"How come you're not asking Dad?" Derek asked, raising his brows. Learning to shave was supposed to be a manly bonding thing, right? The Sheriff had been the one to teach Derek how to shave, after all, back when that had become necessary. Even though Derek had been pretty sure he could have figured it out on his own.

"He's busy in his shop," Stiles said, and there was that. When their Dad was in his workshop, fiddling with whatever his current project was, he preferred not to be interrupted unless it was an actual emergency.

"And Mom's soaking in the tub in their bathroom," Stiles continued, staring at Derek intently. His hair was a mess and his cheeks were still pink. Derek was pretty sure that Stiles really didn't need to shave, but he had already mentally given in. "Now would be a good time...?"

Derek was bemused by the fact that Stiles had phrased his last sentence as a statement but spoken it like a question. He had to admit that the kid was right. Pretty soon their Mom would be done with her quiet time, their Dad would emerge from his workshop, and it would be time to start making and eating dinner.

"Okay," he said, because if he didn't offer Stiles some guidance he might well slice himself open and bleed all over their bathroom. And it would be a shame to scar his pretty face right after Derek had realized that he found it pretty, right?

Ugh, best not to go there right now, though. 

Now or ever.

Derek turned off the television and entertainment system, rose off the sofa, and followed Stiles upstairs. 

"How come you're in your boxers?" he asked. 

Saturday afternoons, once they got home from doing the groceries, were the designated Stilinski-Hale relaxation hours. That was why his Mom was enjoying a long soak in the tub and their Dad was in his workshop doing whatever he did in there. But Derek didn't feel like it was _underwear_ time. If Stiles was warm, he ought to be wearing shorts.

"Um, I got something on my jeans," Stiles replied, voice muffled, and Derek was behind him so he couldn't read his expression, but he could see his ears burning. "And I thought that if I was shaving anyway I should just not bother putting on a new pair."

"Do you need to do laundry?" Derek teased, not bothering to hide his grin. Stiles pretty much eternally needed to do laundry, and from the state of his bedroom that morning, Derek would have bet good money that the majority of his wardrobe was on the floor or draped over his furniture, all of it dirty.

"Oh, like you don't, too," Stiles snapped, glancing over his shoulder as they walked down the hall toward the bathroom. He was flushed, which Derek thought was weird, but then Stiles _was_ weird.

Derek shrugged. He'd actually washed most of his clothes the weekend before, but he didn't feel the need to tell Stiles that. It wasn't like it was competition to see who could be more responsible, after all. Derek was pretty sure that the fact that he was the one who had to babysit Stiles when their parents were out won him that hypothetical contest anyway.

"Do you want me to go put pants on?" Stiles asked, his brows creasing in a little frown. 

Derek shrugged. "I don't care. Probably safer this way, in case you make a mess."

Stiles' mouth fell open in outrage, wet and red and Derek really better not stare at it too long or his treacherous brain might start giving him _ideas_.

"I am _not_ a baby who's gonna spill all over myself!" Stiles squalled in protest.

"No, but you _are_ a klutz who regularly spills all over yourself," Derek pointed out, and he couldn't help smirking even though he knew it was kind of a dickish expression. "In fact, maybe you should take off your shirt, too."

Stiles scowled at him, dark brown eyes flashing. "Don't be an asshole, Derek."

Derek lifted his brows. "Or I could just go back downstairs and finish my show," he pointed out.

He almost felt bad at the expression on Stiles' face -- kind of hurt and... desperate for some reason? -- but then his heart thumped hard in his chest and at points lower as Stiles reached for the back of his collar and then peeled off his teeshirt, dropping it on the floor.

Derek probably should have pointed out that he hadn't meant that Stiles should _actually_ take his shirt off. He probably should have told him to _put his shirt back on_.

But he didn't. Instead he nudged the bathroom door closed and stepped up to the sink, grabbing the shaving gel and getting right up in Stiles' personal space.

Stiles didn't take a step back. He cast his gaze down, his cheeks pink, and his lashes fanned thick and dark. He didn't look like a girl, not at all, but he _was_ a pretty boy. When he kept his mouth shut, anyway.

If he was painfully honest, Derek could admit that he respected the fact that Stiles was able to hold his own verbally against people older than him. Especially against Isaac and Erica. Yeah, a lot of times Stiles was painfully outspoken and he blurted out things people just shouldn't say in company, and he was agonizingly geeky....

But he was a smart kid and he was sassy. And when he wasn't upset about something and dissolving into tears while he ran upstairs, he was more than able to hold his own against Derek's friends. The evening before had been an aberration, and Derek still wasn't quite sure why Stiles had been so on edge. Aside from the whole going-through-puberty thing, which was understandable.

"Here." Derek shoved the shaving gel at Stiles. As tempting as it was to think about smoothing his fingertips over Stiles' jawline and baby-soft cheeks as he put the foam on for him, Derek knew that was a magnificently bad idea. Besides, he was here to teach Stiles how to shave, right? Not to do it for him.

Stiles stared down at the shaving gel as though it was a foreign object, not moving. Derek watched his chest move as he breathed. He had no hair there, not even a wisp, but there was the beginning of a trail leading down from his bellybutton toward his crotch, disappearing under the saggy band of his boxers.

Wait.

"Are those _my_ boxers?" Derek asked, trying to sound outraged and coming off sounding breathless instead. He could feel his eyebrows crawling up toward his hairline, but Stiles was determinedly not looking at him, keeping his gaze down, so he missed the expression.

It was probably just as well, since Derek could feel that his cheeks were blazing, almost as red as Stiles' were right now.

"They _were_ ," Stiles mumbled, fingers clenching around the shaving gel in his hand. "Mom gave them to me with some of your other old stuff." Stiles shifted his bright eyes to stare at Derek's crotch, which made him feel very warm and somewhat uncomfortable. "They're years old, though. You outgrew them. Your underwear now wouldn't fit me. Besides, you don't even _wear_ boxers anymore."

Derek felt as though they'd wandered away from the salient point, which was that _Stiles was wearing his old underwear_ , but he allowed himself to be distracted. 

"How do you know what kind of underwear I wear?" he asked, trying to scowl. His cheeks were flaming and his traitorous cock was plumping in his underwear. Which, as Stiles had pointed out, weren't boxers, thankfully. Not that boxer-briefs did a better job of containing his threatening hard-on, but every little bit helped.

Stiles looked up at him -- thank God taking his gaze off Derek's potential erection -- and grinned. His own cheeks were bright red, but he looked impish and far more at ease in this awkward conversation than Derek felt.

"Because when Mom goes clothes shopping I go with her and I pay attention," he said. "Also, they say things at school."

"About my underwear?!" Derek blurted, appalled. Stiles was still in junior high; why would junior high students be discussing Derek's underwear?!

"No, no," Stiles hurried to assure him. "About boxer-briefs. About how guys who wear them have big dicks. And so I noticed that Mom got them for you, you know?"

Derek let out a loud sigh and rolled his eyes, trying to hide his relief. "If you told any of your classmates..." he started, trying to come up with a suitable threat, but before he could do so, Stiles snorted.

"Oh, come on, Derek. Why would I do that?" he asked scornfully. "Do you think I want to be known as the creeper who talks about his stepbrother's underwear at school? I'm pretty sure everyone with eyes can see that you're packing quite a piece in your--"

"That's enough!" Derek interrupted, slapping his hand over Stiles' mouth. Oh, great, now he had Stiles' soft lips mashed into his palm and he could feel Stiles' hot-wet breath breaking over his skin. That wasn't making his cock any less likely to chub up on him. Dammit.

To his credit, Stiles seemed to be as horrified by what he had been saying as Derek had been, his cheeks blazing under Derek's fingers, his thick lashes flickering as he shifted his gaze away from Derek's face and toward the sink.

Belatedly, Derek removed his hand. He'd done it again; manhandled Stiles in a way he probably shouldn't have done and definitely shouldn't have found as arousing as he did. 

"Sorry," Stiles mumbled, tongue running over his lower lip, slicking it with saliva, the red swell shining, and he popped the cap off the shaving gel, his jaw setting with determination.

"Hang on," Derek directed, reaching over and twisting the hot water handle. "You need to get your face wet before you put that on." He cast a glance down at Stiles' bare chest. "I guess it's a good thing you took off your shirt after all."

Stiles stuck his tongue out at Derek in a great display of maturity. "I'm not some baby who's going to dribble water all over myself," he protested, setting the can of shaving gel on the counter beside the sink. "I know how to use a washcloth, okay? Don't be a jerk."

Derek snorted. "It's not easy the first time. I wasn't implying anything."

Even though he kind of had been. Stiles was a walking disaster even when he was on his best behavior and they both knew it, but Derek hadn't meant to actively insult him. Especially not if it could potentially drive him to tears again.

"You should take your shirt off too," Stiles said, and Derek gave him a hard look, but he had his attention fixed on making sure the water was the perfect temperature. "You know. In the interest of fairness."

Derek strongly considered informing Stiles that since he'd been the one to take his own shirt off his argument didn't carry any weight... but Derek _had_ been the one to suggest Stiles do so, albeit not really seriously. Anyway, since when did Derek shy away from any opportunity to remove his shirt?

He could admit it; even before the night that he'd pinned Stiles to the floor and begun to consider his younger stepbrother sexually, Derek had liked the attention he got from Stiles when he stared at his bared chest. After all, Derek didn't work out as much and as hard as he did for nothing.

So instead of fighting Stiles on it, Derek peeled his own shirt off and dropped it on top of Stiles' on the floor, toeing them both out of the way because he could totally imagine Stiles tripping over them at some point.

Stiles' eyes went wide and he froze, his hands under the running water, staring at Derek's chest.

Derek probably should have mocked Stiles, but he couldn't manage it through the flush of warmth that rushed through him, tightening his throat and clenching in the base of his belly. He didn't get hard, but he wasn't far from it.

"So, wet a washcloth," he instructed, hating how hoarsely his voice came out, grabbing the can of shaving gel for something to do with his hands. "You already know that part, right?"

Stiles blinked, closing his gaping mouth and swallowing. "Why did you shave your chest?" he asked as he grabbed a washcloth as directed and stuck it under the facet. His voice wobbled a little and Derek felt moderately more in control, but he still cleared his throat before he answered.

"Some girls don't like hairy chests," he said with a small shrug.

Stiles turned to stare at him, face squeezing into a disapproving look. "What? Yeah, maybe pedophiles!" he snapped, slapping down the washcloth and turning to face Derek directly. "Are you kidding me? Hairy chests are _awesome_! I can't wait to get hair on mine!"

Derek's gaze dropped as Stiles brushed at his soft pectorals with damp hands, watched as his nipples peaked, pointed and pink like a girl's.

"You're gonna be waiting a while," he said before he could stop to think.

Stiles' chin crumpled, not as if he was gonna cry, but he was definitely displeased by this statement. 

"Jerk," he snapped, shoving at Derek with wet hands.

Derek grabbed his wrist and squeezed. It wasn't the one he'd held in the store, it was the opposite one, and he kind of wanted to give it a matching bruise.

He hadn't marked Stiles up as much earlier in the day as he had the weekend before, but he could already see the faint shadow of bruising ringing Stiles' delicate wrist, and it seemed a shame that it was only just the one.

Stiles went red, his lower lip caught between his teeth.

"I'm not being a jerk," Derek said, setting down the shaving gel. "You just don't seem like you're going to grow a lot of body hair very quickly."

Stiles sulked at him, his eyes dark, his lips tight, but he wasn't fighting to get out of Derek's grip. And then his mouth fell open as Derek spread his free hand over his narrow chest.

Derek stared intensely at Stiles, who stared back silently, as he felt how soft and delicate Stiles' skin was. Without his meaning to, Derek tracked his fingertips over one of Stiles' nipples, drawing a loud inhalation out of his stepbrother.

This broke Derek out of the haze he'd fallen into, and he pulled back abruptly. Grabbing the washcloth, he thrust it toward Stiles. "Here," he said, because they really ought to get on with the shaving lesson. Otherwise he was likely to do something he regretted. 

It was true that he'd have to be blind not to pick up on the signals Stiles was sending. But Stiles was a thirteen year old virgin who had no idea what he was doing. And even if he did have an awareness and was teasing Derek on purpose, he didn't really _know_ what he was offering.

Derek was the almost-adult here; he had to be mature about this, had to stop indulging himself. Because that way lay disaster. Stiles was a kid who had _no idea_ that he was tempting Derek.

So it was with a renewed and somewhat desperate sense of responsibility that Derek began to actually legitimately show Stiles how to shave.

He was still pretty sure that Stiles didn't _need_ to shave, but maybe getting started would get his facial hair growing. Besides, Derek still felt a little bit bad about having ignored Stiles for a week and also for the way his friends had picked on him, so he didn't mind humoring him. Much.

Though it _was_ kind of suggestive, both of them standing here, close together, in the small bathroom that was filling with steamy air and the smell of both their bodies... with no shirts on, no less.

"Good job," Derek said grudgingly, once Stiles had managed to shave his entire jawline without nicking himself. That was better than _he_ had managed his first time, even though there was no way he was telling Stiles so. Then again, Stiles knew how prone he was to hurting himself, so he'd probably been even more careful than usual to avoid that.

"Thanks," Stiles said shyly, wiping the residual foam off with the washcloth and craning his chin up and around to look in the mirror. It was beginning to fog up and Derek opened the door to let some fresh air in so that it didn't get worse.

"Do you think I need this?" Stiles asked, picking up the after-shaving lotion and eyeing it speculatively. Derek was privately amused, because Stiles didn't look any different now than he had before shaving, but he wasn't cruel enough to say so.

"Couldn't hurt," he offered with a little shrug.

"Looking good, Stiles," their Mom suddenly spoke from the doorway, causing Derek to start and Stiles to jump and drop the lotion with a yelp.

"Mom!" Derek snapped. 

She grinned, looking relaxed and bright-eyed after her soak. She was dressed, her hair still caught up on top of her head, dark strands stringing damp around her neck, and she looked way too amused for Derek's peace of mind.

"I don't think I want to know why neither of you is wearing your shirt, though," she continued, quirking a brow in a move she _must_ have learned from her husband.

Derek flushed and bent to snatch up both shirts in an effort at disguising this guilty reaction. He nearly slammed his head into Stiles' as his stepbrother moved to pick up the dropped lotion, and they both glared at each other as they straightened.

"Play nice," Talia warned automatically, almost absently, stepping into the bathroom and running her hand along Stiles' jaw. "Very smooth."

"It was already smooth," Stiles said, wrinkling his nose, and Derek was glad Stiles had said it before he could, because he probably would have gotten in trouble if he had.

Their mother just laughed and kissed Stiles' temple while ruffling his hair, and then she turned to sweep out of the bathroom and down the hall.

"Get some clothes on and come down to the kitchen," she directed Derek over her shoulder. "It's your turn to help make dinner."

Derek sighed, but she was right and he wasn't the type to shirk his duties without a reason.... He didn't think locking himself in his bedroom to jerk off because he'd been standing half-naked in the bathroom with his thirteen year old stepbrother counted as a legitimate reason. Even if it was, he certainly wasn't going to talk to his Mom about it.

Derek shoved a shirt at Stiles and moved to leave the bathroom.

"Thanks, Derek," Stiles said again, and Derek paused in the doorway as Talia went downstairs. "Really. You didn't have to help me."

Derek shrugged, pulling on the shirt in his hand. "It was no big deal," he said. "You should put some pants on, though."

Stiles flushed. "You should grow your chest hair out again," he declared boldly. "Don't let any dumb girl who doesn't know what a _real_ man looks like force you to change."

Derek snorted and followed his mother down to the kitchen. It wasn't until he was halfway down the stairs that he thought that he should have told Stiles it was none of his business what he did with his chest hair... and it wasn't until he was in the kitchen that he realized he was wearing Stiles' shirt rather than his own.

It was a little tight, but it had been loose on Stiles and so it fit reasonably well. He felt like an idiot for not noticing sooner, though. They were about the same color and were both teeshirts, but that was where the similarities ended. 

Derek's Mom didn't say anything, she probably didn't even notice, and Derek was too embarrassed to make it his excuse to go and change. So he had to help make dinner with the smell of Stiles filling his nose and the image of Stiles maybe putting on _his_ shirt upstairs before he realized the mistake filling his mind.

It was only by carrying on a conversation with his Mom about school that Derek managed not to pop the world's most awkward boner while helping her cook.

And then when Stiles came downstairs to eat with his freshly shaved cheeks a bright pink, his hair a riotous mess, and Derek's shirt draped over his skinny body... well, Derek was gone. At least by then he was sitting at the table and no one could see that he spent the meal hard as a rock inside his jeans.

It was both heaven and hell, getting to see Stiles wearing his shirt and looking as though he'd jerked himself off while wearing it.

Derek wouldn't have given up that sight for anything, though. 

+=+=+

Stiles squirmed his way through dinner, which in itself wasn't so unusual, but tonight he really, really had a very good reason.

He probably shouldn't have put Derek's shirt on... but it had seemed fitting enough, at first. Derek had grabbed the wrong shirt, yeah, and he'd put on Stiles', so it had seemed only natural to Stiles to put Derek's shirt on in some form of payback.

But he hadn't counted on it _smelling_ so much like Derek. Or the effect this had had on him.

Stiles had gotten off in his bedroom before being called down to dinner. Twice. Which had been good, because it had taken his mind off of how bizarre his cheeks felt. Tingly, and strangely sensitive, and a little raw even though the razors Derek had picked out for him had been expensive. Stiles thought the lotion had helped, and he supposed he owed Derek his gratitude, both for picking it out and for urging him to use it.

Now, if only Derek wasn't sitting there during dinner, with Stiles' teeshirt stretched taut across his amazing pectorals and incredible biceps, staring at Stiles with dark, hooded eyes and flaring nostrils.

Stiles couldn't tell if Derek was pissed off at him, or.... Well, he _had_ to be pissed off at him, right? Because the alternative possibility was just so impossibly laughable that Stiles was frankly surprised it had entered his head at all.

His wrists were throbbing, though, with the memory of being squeezed tight by Derek. One at the grocery store -- which was already beginning to bruise -- and the other more recently, upstairs in the bathroom. Stiles was going to have to switch to long-sleeved shirts again, he thought, but he didn't care. It was a small price to pay, to be carrying the mark of Derek's intensity branded into his skin, however accidentally and temporarily.

Stiles just hoped they'd make it through dinner without their parents noticing the beginning of the bruising around his one wrist and the redness of the other. With the way he was wriggling on his chair seat he figured the odds were unlikely that they'd see.

Besides, their Mom was all happy about Derek teaching Stiles how to shave, and excited that Stiles had shaved, to the point that Stiles wanted to hide under the table out of embarrassment. More for her than for himself, but still. The only thing that made it semi-bearable was remembering that she'd been just as effusive when Derek had begun shaving. More so, even, because he was her actual son, he'd been the first to start going through puberty, and she'd been thrilled that her husband, Derek's stepfather, had helped him learn how to remove his stubble and that Derek had let him.

Stiles' Dad just sat there, looking bemused, smirking at both Stiles and Derek in turn, and humoring his wife. Stiles would have liked to have gotten more support from his own father, but he supposed he was lucky the man wasn't joining in with the praise and delight. He'd certainly been ready enough with his amusement when she'd been teasing both Stiles and Derek about their long showers, in the grocery store no less!

Stiles really didn't need his stepmother speculating on his masturbatory habits. And he was remarkably glad that she hadn't asked why he and Derek had been topless together in the bathroom while he'd been learning to shave.

Stiles himself wasn't quite sure how it had happened. Derek had told him to take off his shirt, and he had done it. And now Derek was _wearing_ his shirt, and Stiles figured it was accidental, but it was also so sexy it made his mouth water. 

Then Derek had removed his own shirt when Stiles had told him to, and it was hanging loose over Stiles' skinny body now.... But he didn't much care that it was so big on him, because it _smelled_ like Derek. Sweat and cologne and deodorant and Stiles was probably totally imagining it. but he thought that it smelled like sex. 

Not like Derek had _had_ sex while wearing it. Not like Stiles had jizzed on it while jerking off before dinner; he'd been insanely careful about that, since he didn't want Derek to _kill_ him. But it just... had a scent that Stiles' brain connected with sex for whatever reason. Salty and musky and primitive, and maybe that was just the way Derek smelled, but Stiles had it all pressed against his skin now, and he thought he would go crazy before dinner was over!

It should have been gross, but it wasn't. It was so far from gross that the entire surface of Stiles' skin was tingling pleasurably.

Stiles' uncontrollable squirming had an unexpected benefit, in that once he was done eating his Dad told him to go and burn off some energy.

"But I was supposed to help you with the dishes," Stiles protested. Since Mom and Derek had cooked it was on the remaining two family members to clean up afterward. They all took turns. Next Saturday it would be Stiles and his Dad cooking, and Talia and Derek doing the dishes.

"If I trust you with the dishes tonight we'll wind up with something broken," Dad said, and that was so unfair! And not... totally accurate. Just moderately probable.

Stiles opened his mouth, prepared to argue even if he didn't really _want_ to do dishes, but then Talia interrupted.

"How about we go and play some Wii, Stiles."

It wasn't really a question. Stiles pouted, but he couldn't really insist that he be allowed to help do the dishes. That would definitely set a bad precedent.

"Okay," he said instead. 

"Derek, do you want to join us?" their Mom asked, turning to raise her brows at her son.

"No," Derek grunted, and why was he glaring at Stiles? Was it because he didn't insist that he help with the dishes? Why would Derek care about that; it was Stiles' father who would be stuck doing them alone, not Derek's mother. And certainly not Derek himself.

"Oh, come on," Talia wheedled, and Stiles left her to try convincing Derek, grabbing his plate and glass and carrying his stuff into the kitchen. Loading the dishwasher wasn't going to be a huge hardship on his Dad, even with the sink full of bowls and utensils from Talia and Derek's cooking. Stiles still felt a _little_ bad that he wasn't helping....

But, hey, he was being banished; he wasn't actively shirking his duties. So he put his stuff in the sink, ran a little water over the plate into the garbage disposal, then left the kitchen.

Derek was still arguing with their Mom, so Stiles went into the living room and got the Wii set up and ready for use. Playing with Talia wasn't always a lot of fun, because she got _so_ competitive, but maybe Dad would join them once he was done with the dishes. That would be good for a laugh. And maybe Derek would--

Nope, Stiles thought ruefully as he heard Derek stamp up the stairs and slam his bedroom door. Derek was going to be an antisocial goober, who broke his own mother's heart.

Except Talia really only looked annoyed when she walked into the living room, not heartbroken. 

"Derek has decided to be a big fat party pooper," Talia announced, taking the Wii-mote that Stiles held out to her in one elegant hand. 

Stiles snickered, amused by the way her thought process and vocabulary echoed his own pretty closely, but he felt compelled to point out;

"Derek wasn't a party pooper when he helped me choose my shaving stuff and showed me how to shave."

Talia smiled fondly, ruffling Stiles' hair with the hand not holding the game controller. "That's true," she allowed. "But it doesn't make him not a party pooper _now_."

Stiles wrinkled his nose and mentally prepared himself to have his ass handed to him by his stepmother. If Derek had been willing to play, maybe Stiles would have stood a chance at winning against someone, since he was way better at almost every game than Derek was... but Derek was upstairs, sulking.

Or maybe jerking off. Stiles blushed, his gaze suddenly fixing on the spot on the floor where Derek had pinned him down, straddled him with his powerful thighs, and held onto his wrists while yelling at him about the remote batteries....

Maybe that was why Derek had declined to play. Maybe the Wii brought back bad memories. 

Or maybe he never thought about that at all and he was really was just being a party pooper because he didn't want to play with his Mom and Stiles.

"Well, if he doesn't come down for Wii, then he's not getting any chocolate cake," Talia said decisively.

Stiles' eyes went wide. She meant business! 

"Does he know that?" he asked, because if Derek didn't, maybe Stiles should run upstairs and tell him.

"I made him aware," she said, sniffing, and clicking her way through the game menu.

"Huh."

Derek _had_ to be jerking off, then, Stiles figured. Because that was just about the only thing in the world better than chocolate cake. 

He probably would have chosen the chocolate cake, though. Because he could always eat it and then jerk off later. But sometimes, Stiles thought, he was more pragmatic than his stepbrother was.

Even though he was pretty sure that Derek would have snorted if he'd known that Stiles thought so.

+=+=+

Derek had barely been able to wait to jerk off until he got to his bedroom. His Mom was probably pissed at him for declining to play Wii, but there was no way Derek could have done so with the hard-on he'd spent all of dinner sporting.

He couldn't tell his mother that, though. She might have understood -- not knowing the cause; being seventeen was cause enough, right? -- but Derek would have died of embarrassment, and she probably would have teased him more, the way she'd done at the store today.

At least she was used to Derek refusing to play video games with Stiles. It actually wasn't because of the reason it had been before, namely Stiles being obnoxious and annoying, but it _was_ because of Stiles.

Because Stiles had come down to dinner wearing Derek's shirt. Because Stiles looked like he'd been jerking off while wearing Derek's shirt. Because Derek was also wearing Stiles' shirt and all he could smell was _Stiles, Stiles, Stiles_.

Derek had put on Stiles' shirt by accident, but Stiles had to have deliberately _chosen_ to trundle downstairs draped in Derek's shirt. He could have left it on the bathroom floor. He could have dumped it in the hamper, if he'd had an unexpected burst of altruism for some reason. But he hadn't. He'd put it on, and he was _still wearing it_.

He was wearing it while he was playing Wii downstairs with Derek's mother. There was just something wrong with that. But the part of it that was wrong... was all in Derek's head, right? His pervy, perverted head. Because there was no way that it gave Stiles the same huge boner that it gave Derek. No way.

After Derek had gotten off, he considered going downstairs after all. It was Saturday night, and he knew it meant a lot to his Mom for the family to spend it together on the nights when their Dad was home. But he _looked_ like he'd just gotten off, his face flushed red. And he wasn't some dorky thirteen year old who could get away with it, like Stiles had when he had come down to dinner. 

Derek _did_ take off Stiles' shirt, because he wasn't some kind of masochist. He did not, however, make any move to return it to his stepbrother. After all, Stiles still had Derek's shirt, right? So it was only natural that Derek would want to hold Stiles' shirt hostage until he got his own back... or something.

He felt even more like a creeper than usual when he raised Stiles' shirt and took a deep breath of his stepbrother's scent, mingled now with his own. Hadn't it just been a few weeks ago that he'd been complaining about Stiles stinking? 

Things had definitely changed. 

And maybe Derek stuffed Stiles' shirt under his pillow, and then flopped on the bed to stare at his ceiling and fantasize about the things he could do to Stiles if he only allowed himself. And maybe he let go of the feeling of being a pervert, just for the evening. But he knew that feeling would be back full force, the next time he had to face his family.

It would be back. But for tonight he called up the memory of standing in the bathroom with Stiles, and he let the guilt and the feelings of perversion slip away. 

And then he jerked off again. Because he could and because he wanted to.

He _wanted_ , and this was all he was going to allow himself.


	5. Chapter 5

"Derek," Stiles whispered, tapping at his stepbrother's door as quietly as he could. Their parents were downstairs watching tee vee pretty loudly, but he didn't want either of them finding out what he was doing.

What he was _doing_ , was standing like a dork in front of Derek's door with a bowl of chocolate cake and rapidly melting ice cream in his hand, feeling more and more like an idiot. This was probably a mistake, he should just cut his losses and go eat the cake and ice cream himself, but he had already knocked, so--

"Yeah?" Derek opened the door and leaned against the frame, like the world's sexiest pinup, and how was that fair? 

He no longer had Stiles' teeshirt on which disappointed Stiles a little, but he wasn't wearing a top at all which was some consolation, and his hair was an insane mess. He looked cranky, but still so incredibly hot that Stiles felt himself blushing painfully just at the sight of him.

"I brought you dessert," Stiles offered lamely, holding out the bowl. He'd even remembered to include a spoon. He'd considered a fork as well, since there was cake, but the ice cream was already melting and making the cake soggy, and having two utensils sticking up out of the bowl would have looked kind of silly. Like some kind of weird alien. A crazy chocolate and ice cream headed alien. In a bowl. Or maybe just the head--

"Does Mom know you brought me this?" Derek asked, and he looked less cranky but still stupidly sexy.

Stiles rolled his eyes, because Derek looked crazy hot but that was a stupid question. "What do _you_ think?"

Derek shook his head, seeming to lose the last of his crankiness. He took the bowl and went back into his room, but he left the door ajar behind him. 

Since Derek almost _never_ left his door open, even when he was in his room, Stiles took this as an invitation. He didn't want to go back downstairs because their parents were watching a drama -- a _period drama_ , no less -- and he didn't really want to retreat to his bedroom. He could jerk off, yeah, but it was early yet for a Saturday and he didn't feel like being alone. 

He was still glad that Derek wasn't giving him the silent treatment anymore, and he wondered if maybe they could talk like real human beings. That would be nice.

Maybe if they acted more like actual brothers, Stiles would stop lusting after Derek.

Yeah, right, and maybe Lydia Martin would walk up to Stiles and ask him out on a date at school on Monday. That was just about as likely.

"Thanks," Derek grudged, sitting on the edge of his bed, his thighs spread. He was wearing his pajama bottoms and Stiles couldn't help eyeballing his stepbrother's crotch. He hadn't been kidding about the boxer-briefs. He knew what the kids at school said and he'd done enough staring at the bulge in Derek's pants lately that he was pretty sure this generalization was borne out.

"Wii was fun," Stiles said, plopping down in the chair at Derek's desk and dragging his eyes away from the juncture of Derek's thighs. Staring at Derek's dick wasn't going to convince him to think of Derek as his brother. "But Mom won, of course."

"Of course," Derek snorted, shoveling soggy chocolate cake into his mouth. He didn't seem to mind that the ice cream was melting into it, but, hey, it was _ice cream_. A flavor that Stiles had specifically chosen for Derek, so he felt he'd made the right choice by putting both treats in the same bowl before smuggling it up to Derek.

"Dad played for a while, but then he said he hurt his shoulder," Stiles continued. "Mom was leaning against it when I left the living room, though, so I think he just got tired of her beating his pants off."

Derek looked horrified. "Phrasing!"

Stiles thought about what he'd said for a moment, then cackled with laughter, kicking up his feet.

"Dork," Derek said, but he sounded almost affectionate and he ate more cake and ice cream, his pale green-blue-brown eyes fixed on Stiles with unnerving intensity.

Stiles sighed, curling himself up crosslegged on the seat of Derek's chair, bare feet under his thighs. He'd almost never been in Derek's bedroom before, with or without permission, so he took a moment to look around. It might have had something to do with the way Derek was staring at him and the fact that he felt uncomfortable just staring back... or maybe he was just wildly curious. Probably some of both, if he was honest.

Like Stiles, Derek had a bed, a desk, and a dresser. There was a small table beside his bed, whereas Stiles had a headboard that had shelves, but Derek's bed was a lot bigger than Stiles' narrow twin, and he had two bookshelves instead of one. 

Stiles wondered if the bedside table drawer was where Derek kept his lubricant... whatever he used for jerking off. He _had_ to use something, right? Stiles kept a healthy stock of hand lotion himself, because he'd have died of embarrassment buying anything more specialized, and died even harder asking a parent or Derek to buy it for him. He wondered if Derek was shy about buying lube. He wondered if Derek was buying condoms, because Derek looked too hot to not be having sex....

And that thought suddenly had him feeling unexpectedly distraught. 

Derek didn't have a steady girlfriend, but that didn't mean that he wasn't getting some. Hell, he was insanely good looking, his muscles had muscles, his jaw was stubbly, and _he wore boxer-briefs_. Yeah, he didn't have the best attitude sometimes, but Stiles thought that Derek was still popular at school, and thinking of him as a virgin suddenly seemed like the world's biggest impossibility.

Stiles wasn't sure why it hadn't occurred to him before that Derek _must_ have had sex, with a real person. Maybe because until recently he hadn't regarded his stepbrother sexually at all? But now it was in his head and it wouldn't leave and he was....

He was upset over it, Stiles recognized. Like, legitimately discomfitted. It messed with his world view and made him feel unsettled under his skin. He didn't like the thought of it, and he wasn't sure whether it was jealousy toward Derek or jealousy _over_ Derek.

Okay, probably the latter.

"What's wrong?" Derek asked, putting his empty bowl down on the bedside table and giving Stiles a slightly concerned look, his eyebrows creasing together in the middle. There was a smear of chocolate on his lower lip and Stiles wanted to lick it away, which made him feel even more like a total pervert and a complete loser.

"Stiles?" Derek prodded, when Stiles didn't reply right away.

Stiles shrugged, then hunched into himself. He didn't want Derek kicking him out of his bedroom -- at least not yet, since it was kind of inevitable that it would happen eventually -- so he didn't dare to let him know what he'd just been thinking.

"Nothing," he answered lamely. It might have been better to make something up, but nothing sprang to mind. Not when he was trying to push away mental images of some girl with her fingers digging into the bunched muscles of Derek's shoulders, her thighs wrapped around his lean hips....

Euw. Stiles hoped Derek had never had sex with Erica!

Bad enough that Derek might have screwed some imaginary, faceless girl. Stiles hoped he'd never had sex with someone that Stiles knew! Especially not Erica, because she was a mean bitch to Stiles. She was sort of dating Boyd now, in a weird unofficial way, but that hadn't always been the case, and she'd been friends with Derek longer than she'd been sleeping with Boyd.

Stiles wondered briefly why Derek didn't have a girlfriend -- had never had one that he knew of, aside from a girl named Paige that he'd dated for a little while a couple of years ago -- but he supposed he could chalk it up to bad attitude. Isaac was single too, after all, and as much as Stiles disliked him, he had to admit that Isaac was almost as good looking as Derek was.

"Are you sure?" 

Stiles flushed, ducking his head and trying desperately to think of something other than Derek and sex. It was tough, though, when he was sitting in Derek's bedroom, surrounded by the scent of his body. 

At least he wasn't still wearing Derek's shirt, Stiles thought with a sense of relief. After playing Wii they'd had dessert and Stiles hadn't wanted to risk getting ice cream on it so he'd gone to his room and changed into one of his own shirts. Derek's teeshirt was currently laying on Stiles' pillow. If Derek demanded it back, Stiles would go and get it, but if he didn't then it was going to feature heavily in Stiles' masturbatory routine tonight. And it would continue to do so for as long as Stiles could get away with keeping it.

Hey, Derek hadn't given back Stiles' shirt yet either. Fair was fair.

"Thanks for helping me shave today," he mumbled, instead of answering Derek's question, because he couldn't think of a convincing lie for why he looked so distraught. Somehow he didn't think _"I just now realized you've probably had sex with someone or maybe multiple someones and I hate that thought,"_ would cut it as an explanation, even if it was true.

Derek shrugged, looking uncomfortable. He drew one of his own feet up onto the bed, tucking it under the opposite thigh and wrapping his hands around his shin. He looked like a freaking pin-up from a beefcake magazine, and Stiles was kind of doomed, because he had to _live_ with this impossible hotness.

"Didn't want you slicing your face open," Derek said, staring at Stiles with that scary intensity he sometimes displayed. Stiles never could figure it out but he accepted it as it was; it was just a part of Derek, like his expressive eyebrows or his adorable bunny teeth.

Stiles wanted to inform Derek that he would _not_ have sliced his face open, he'd done just fine with minimal supervision, he hadn't _needed_ Derek's help.... But that would have pissed Derek off and he would probably kick Stiles out of his room, and Stiles didn't want that. Besides, he'd been the one to ask Derek for his help in the first place.

So instead of snarking back, he just pulled a sour face. "I said thank you," he informed Derek haughtily. "You could have just graciously accepted my gratitude."

Derek stared at him for a moment, and Stiles was _sure_ he'd just gotten himself kicked out after all. But then Derek burst into unexpected laughter, flopping back onto his bed, propped up on his elbows, both his feet on the floor now, and his pale gaze _still_ fixed on Stiles' face.

Stiles wasn't sure why Derek had found that so funny, but he liked to hear Derek laugh, and he liked that he'd caused it, so he couldn't help smiling in sympathy, even as he ducked his head a little shyly.

"You need a haircut," Derek said unexpectedly, staying where he was, his thighs spread as though to display his junk for Stiles' curious eyes, his chest and stomach bared and rippling with muscle. He was staring at Stiles intently again... or still, whatever.

Stiles startled and then glared at him. "What?" 

"But don't get a buzz," Derek instructed, as though this was something like a normal conversation. Then again, they almost never talked, so who was to say what a normal conversation was between them? Stiles felt like this criticism of his hair was coming out of nowhere, though. It didn't have anything to do with him learning to shave. Did it?

"Why not?" Stiles asked, reaching up and digging his fingers into his hair. It _was_ getting pretty bushy, and any day now their Mom was bound to notice and make him an appointment to get it dealt with. He'd been getting it buzzed since he'd been little, since before his Dad had married Derek's Mom, because it was easier to take care of.

"It makes you look like a spazz."

Stiles glowered at Derek. "But you always say I _am_ a spazz."

Derek shrugged, making it look natural rather than awkward, even though he was still resting back on his elbows with his shoulders up close to his earlobes. "Doesn't mean you have to go around looking like one."

Stiles stared at Derek's chest, fascinated more by the flex of muscles in his pectorals than by his tight nipples or the hairlessness. And definitely more interested in that than in his own hair... but then a thought struck him.

"I'll do it if you grow your chest hair back out," he bargained. 

"What?" Derek sat back up, leaning forward. Stiles mourned the loss of his view. He also worried that he'd pushed too far in a weird direction, and that Derek would now kick him out of his bedroom.

But he was going to stick by his guns, so to speak. He knew what was best, and he wanted Derek to be at his best, even if it was to the benefit of some faceless girl rather than Stiles. Then again, even if Stiles never got to _touch_ Derek's amazing chest -- because why would he? -- he got to look at it all the time, since Derek didn't like wearing shirts around the house. Why not try to make sure Derek looked the way Stiles wanted him to look, since he was _going_ to be looking.

"I'll get my hair styled instead of buzzed if you stop shaving your chest," he repeated, laying it out in clear terms. 

Derek's brows rose, but he didn't look angry, which was a good sign, right? "Why are you so invested in my chest hair?" he asked, putting it into words and making Stiles' stomach swoop and twist with nerves. "I'm just trying to do you a favor here. I thought you were getting old enough to care about how you looked."

Stiles scowled, feeling somehow offended by that statement even if he couldn't figure out exactly how. 

"And I care how _you_ look," he replied tartly, hoping fervently that Derek wouldn't ask him why he cared. "And with your chest all shaved bare like that, you _look_ like a _tool_!"

Derek's brows rose way up toward his hairline. Derek usually had his bangs gelled to ridiculous heights so Stiles didn't think Derek ought be offering him advice on styling his own hair, but since it was the weekend and Derek was relaxing at home, his bangs were resting flat and soft-looking against his forehead in a way that somehow made him look older rather than younger.

Stiles was struck with the overwhelming desire to feel if Derek's bangs were as soft as they looked... but he knew Derek would skin him alive if he tried it. Or at least make him leave his room.

Instead he ran his fingertip over the skin between his nose and his upper lip, where Derek had done in the grocery store. His skin shivered with the sense memory, and then he shivered again as Derek's eyes fixed on the movement of his finger, seemingly fixated on his mouth.

Stiles lowered his hand, running his tongue anxiously over his lips, and Derek's gaze stayed there, didn't follow his fingers.

"Do we have a deal?" Stiles prompted, knowing it was daring but when hadn't he thrown himself headfirst into things? The worst Derek could do would be to tell him "no" and kick him out of his room, after all.

Derek sighed and rolled his eyes, as though he was _so_ put upon.

"Sure, whatever," he replied, which was a hell of a lot more than Stiles ever would have expected from him.

"Really?" His voice squeaked a little, to his utter humiliation. 

"Did I stutter?"

Stiles took his own turn to roll his eyes. But Derek hadn't kicked him out yet, _and_ he'd agreed to Stiles' deal.

"Was there... was there a particular girl you shaved your chest for?" he ventured hesitantly.

Derek shrugged. "Not that it's any of your business," he said, which was true, "But no, no one in particular."

"You didn't shave your legs, did you?" Stiles asked in fascination, staring at the dark hair shading Derek's forearms. He could see that Derek hadn't shaved there, but girls evidently didn't either, even though they shaved their legs, which had never made any sense to Stiles.

Then again, Stiles didn't really understand much about girls in general. Like why they might prefer a guy who looked more like a boy than a man.

That might work in Stiles' favor, if his own chest continued to be as hairless as it was now.... Though, to be fair, he was only thirteen, so it was likely that he _would_ develop chest hair at some point. Later rather than sooner, if Derek was right. 

"No, I didn't shave my legs," Derek said in scornful tones, as though this was a stupid question. 

"Did you manscape your pubes?" Stiles found himself asking, mildly appalled even as the words left his mouth but also insanely curious.

From the horrified look Derek gave him, one would think that Stiles had asked him whether he'd shaved his balls.

"Did you shave your balls?" popped out his mouth before he even stopped to think. Jokes about Nair aside -- which he'd slung in Derek's direction the morning Derek had shaved his chest -- Stiles suddenly wanted to _know_.

"Really?" Derek gave him a hard look, pale eyes burning. "Really, Stiles?"

"What?" He flung his hands out. "You said girls like a hairless chest; maybe they want a guy's junk to be smooth too! I don't know!"

"You don't know anything, do you," Derek snarked, and the way he said it, it wasn't a question.

"Don't rub it in." Stiles was a virgin and he knew that Derek knew that, but they didn't need to talk about it.

"Jesus, Stiles, you're only thirteen," Derek exclaimed, and he sounded as though he actually cared somehow. "No one _expects_ you to know anything about girls yet."

Stiles grimaced. It felt like Derek should have been making fun of him, but he sounded as though he meant that statement seriously.

"Were you getting laid when you were thirteen?" he asked, staring over Derek's right shoulder because he couldn't meet his eyes while asking that question. But he felt like he couldn't not ask it.

"Do you remember what I looked like when I was thirteen?" Derek rejoined, and he was actually conversing about this with Stiles instead of pushing him out of his room, which was awesome, but it was giving Stiles more and more of a chance to embarrass himself.

Stiles thought about it for a while. "I was only eight or nine back then," he said. "But I thought you looked like a grown-up...."

Derek actually smiled as he shook his head. "Trust me, I didn't look like a grown-up. I was almost as scrawny as you are now, and I had no idea what to do with my hair. That wasn't exactly a good time for me."

Stiles nodded, trying really hard to remember what Derek had actually looked like when he'd been Stiles' age instead of focusing on the fact that this might be deemed an awkward period for himself, since he was the one who was thirteen now. 

Well, it wasn't like he didn't already know that. And at least Derek was describing himself in unflattering terms, instead of pointing out Stiles' shortcomings.

"You were already shaving, though, right?" he asked, because he was pretty sure he remembered Derek with stubble, even back then.

"You shaved today," Derek offered, but he was all too clearly humoring Stiles.

"I didn't _need_ to," Stiles grumbled. "Not really."

"Well." Derek shrugged. "It made Mom happy."

"Yeah, creepily so," Stiles said, reaching up and rubbing his chin. It was starting to feel more normal now, not as raw, but he wasn't going to bother shaving again until he _had_ to. He wasn't as hairy as Derek was, not on his arms or legs, much less his chest, so it was probably going to be a while yet.

Derek shrugged again, not offended on his Mom's behalf. "She has to do what she can with two sons," he said. "Unless you wanna start wearing makeup and having your period."

"Oh, ha-ha," Stiles rejoined. "Why would _I_ be the girl? Anyway, I don't think Mom would be happier with a daughter than two sons, given how competitive she can be. They'd probably drive each other crazy."

"Probably," Derek agreed easily enough. 

"I'm glad Mom and Dad didn't want to have more kids after they got married," Stiles said honestly. Then, because it felt right, when he was sitting here in Derek's bedroom having an actual conversation with Derek for just about the first time in, well, _ever_ , he added, "I'm glad that you're my stepbrother."

Derek's brows rose again, his expression mildly surprised, but he didn't blow Stiles off immediately, which was good.

"Do you just mean in comparison to a hypothetical younger sister?"

"No!" Stiles squawked indignantly. "I mean _you_ , Derek! Jeeze, can't you take a freaking compliment?"

Now Derek looked even more surprised, but it was probably because of Stiles' outburst more than it was because of his confession.

And now Stiles was just embarrassed that he had said anything at all. 

"You know what, forget it." He jumped up off of Derek's desk chair, wobbling a little because his legs had been tucked underneath him for too long. "I'm not expecting you to say the same thing to me when I know it's not true, but you could at least do me the favor of believing me when I say it!"

Derek was obviously shocked by his outburst, but Stiles was upset and he didn't care. It hadn't been an outright rejection, but it still _felt_ like one, and he couldn't stand being here in Derek's room anymore when Derek was sitting there looking all sexy like a sex god and he'd probably _had_ sex, probably had a _lot_ of sex, and Stiles hadn't done anything with anyone, and he'd just put himself out there and gotten shot down, and it wasn't even sexual, it was in terms of being brothers, and--

"Stiles," Derek called commandingly as Stiles twisted the knob and opened the door.

"What?" Stiles turned to glare at him, hoping his face wasn't as red as it felt.

Derek seemed to struggle internally for a moment, and then he came out with, "Thanks for bringing me dessert."

Stiles would have liked to think that there was a deeper meaning to those words -- like maybe it was Derek's way of apologizing or saying that he was glad Stiles was his stepbrother too -- but he really didn't feel that there was.

"Whatever," he shot back and darted down the hall to his own room.

It might not be fair to Derek, but Stiles was just too upset to keep talking to him now. They'd had such a good conversation and then Stiles had gone and said too much and had the mat pulled out from under him, and he knew it wasn't actually Derek's fault but that didn't make his chest hurt any less.

Well, it also wasn't going to stop him jerking off while wearing Derek's shirt tonight. That was something that was going to happen.

Because, hey, Derek hadn't asked for it back. And even if he was truly unsettled over the realization that Derek almost certainly wasn't a virgin, and even though he was feeling indirectly rejected, Stiles was still sporting the fresh bruising around his wrists and he still had a shirt that smelled like Derek's body.

He'd have to have been _way_ more offended and hurt by Derek not to want to jerk off to thoughts of his older stepbrother. Way, way, way more. Which, thankfully, he wasn't.

+=+=+

Derek was pretty sure he was never going to understand Stiles, no matter how many years they lived in the same house.

It might be easier having a little sister, he thought with a combination of annoyance and affection. Not really, but... _god_. It was so hard to get along with Stiles sometimes. Mostly it was because he and Stiles were so very different from each other.

Derek sighed, walking over to lock his door, then flopped on his bed, rubbing his cock lazily through the material of his pajama bottoms. Not with intent, just to create a little friction and pleasure.

It might be a horrible idea -- it was surely a horrible idea -- but it was getting to the point that being in the same room as Stiles, carrying on a conversation with his stepbrother was enough to cause him to chub up a little.

Though, if he was honest, Derek recognized that this conversation they'd just had had probably been _the_ longest they'd ever spoken. At least not without it devolving into snark and shouting.

Which made it even more disappointing, after all that, for Stiles to have stormed out of here angry.

And, yeah, Derek had failed to step up and tell Stiles that he was glad he was his stepbrother too, but like Stiles had said, he shouldn't have felt compelled to return the sentiment just because Stiles had said it first.

Stiles had said that wasn't why he'd been pissed, but Derek thought that this was a lie. And if Stiles believed his own words, then he was lying to himself more than he was to Derek.

Derek _was_ glad that Stiles was his stepbrother... sometimes. 

Stiles was hard to live with even when seen through the eyes of affection, Derek thought idly, settling back with his hands behind his head, his knees raised, and his thighs spread. He was still a little hard, thinking about Stiles, but it wasn't urgent. Mostly he was trying to work through the weird-ass conversation the two of them had just had.

To be honest, their conversation had been so bizarre and had covered so many touchy subjects that Derek would have been genuinely shocked if Stiles _hadn't_ ended up storming out of his room at one point or another.

He wasn't sure what was weirder; that Stiles had asked whether Derek had been a virgin when he'd been thirteen, or that he'd shown such a remarkable fixation on Derek's lack of chest hair.

That wasn't all of it, of course. But those were the points that were stuck in Derek's head.

It had started out with Stiles bringing Derek ice cream and cake; the dessert he'd missed out on because he hadn't wanted to play Wii with the family. Stiles could be generous toward those he cared about, but he'd never been so thoughtful toward Derek before.

Well, they _had_ been spending more time together lately than usual. It had been.... Derek was running out of words to describe it. Weird. Strange. Bizarre. That covered it and yet it didn't seem like enough.

Of course, what was lusting after his thirteen year old stepbrother if not all of the above?

Derek's own lustful feelings toward Stiles notwithstanding, he was pretty sure Stiles' reactions toward him were evolving. A couple of weeks ago there was no way Stiles would have bothered to bring Derek up a bowl of dessert, much less wandered into his bedroom after him to talk about body hair and virginity.

Not only had Stiles made a big deal about Derek's chest hair -- showing an interest in it that tripped lightly over the border into creepy, considering he was Derek's younger stepbrother -- but he'd also come right out and asked if Derek's had shaved his balls.

He'd joked about Nair and balls before, on the morning Derek had actually shaved his chest, but that had just been a _joke_. His query about the state of Derek's balls now had been seriously meant.

Derek supposed he should be used to Stiles popping out inappropriate questions by this point. Like the time he'd asked their aunt if her yeast infection had cleared up yet; information he could only have gotten by listening in on one of their Mom's phone calls with her. That had been mortifying for everyone involved, but it hadn't been as personal as his question about Derek's balls.

Well, okay, it had probably been as personal for Aunt Carrie. But not for Derek. Certainly not as personal as Stiles asking if he had shaved balls, or whether he'd still been a virgin when he'd been Stiles' age.

The truth was that Derek had started being sexually active around his fourteenth birthday, which was only a little older than Stiles was now, but he didn't want to tell Stiles that. It would only lead to Stiles comparing himself to Derek and potentially feeling bad about his lack of success in that area.

Because Erica and Isaac might have just been being assholes, but Derek was pretty sure Stiles didn't have anything other than his own hand going on right now. That and fantasies about Lydia Martin.

The poor kid was something of a mess, but that fact didn't seem to stop Derek from wanting to touch him all over, to taste him, to grab a hold of him and... well.

Maybe it was time for Derek to get out there and try to find someone to take his mind off of his much younger, scrawny, hyperactive, _pretty_ little stepbrother. It had been a while since Derek had been out on a real date; longer than he cared to think about.

It wasn't that Derek wasn't popular. He worked hard to maintain his "cool" image at school and he was pretty well liked, or at least he thought so. He'd certainly never had too much difficulty in finding people to fool around with when he felt like it. 

If he was painfully honest, Derek knew that his freaky new obsession with Stiles wasn't happening because he wasn't getting laid enough.... But it couldn't hurt, right? Finding someone to go out with and possibly have sex with was sure to take his mind off of how it had felt to pin Stiles to the floor, and how much he wanted to do it again.

So it was decided. At school on Monday, Derek was going to ask Paige Krasikeva out. They had a history; they'd made a try at dating about two years ago, give or take. It hadn't worked out but Derek had matured since then and maybe Paige would be willing to give him a second chance, especially if she had noticed.

And if she said "no"... well, there were plenty of other classmates Derek could ask out. People who would be more sure to put out than Paige would be. Not that this was what Derek was looking for. What he was looking for.... What he really needed....

What Derek really needed was a _distraction_. Maybe not the best basis for a relationship, but he really did feel it was for the best.

Maybe if he got right in there and started dating someone he'd forget how it had felt to sit on top of Stiles and wrap his fingers around bony wrists. He'd forget standing with Stiles in the bathroom, shirtless and intimate. He'd forget about touching Stiles' smooth chest and his fuzz-soft upper lip. Maybe he'd stop staring at the bruises ringing Stiles' bony wrists, and maybe he wouldn't put any new ones there.

He had to have hope. Because otherwise things might go very badly very soon. Derek wasn't as impulsive as Stiles tended to be, but even his control could be stretched past the breaking point.

Especially by everything that there was about Stiles. As bizarre a thought as that was. 

+=+=+

Derek was dating Paige Krasikeva again, after they'd called it quits a couple of years ago.

Stiles couldn't believe it. He wasn't sure why he was so stunned by the idea of Derek dating. It wasn't like Derek wasn't prime dating material. Hell, any girl would be happy to say "yes" if he would just ask, right? 

But Stiles had become complacent. It had been a long time since Derek had actually been out on a date. Since well before Stiles had started actually _caring_ about things like that, for sure.

Not that he _should_ care. He shouldn't care, right? Derek was just his older stepbrother and nothing else. It shouldn't matter who Derek dated, or even whether he was dating at all.

Still, Stiles couldn't help it; he kept thinking back to the weird conversation they'd had in Derek's bedroom, trying to figure out if he'd said something to trigger this sudden interest in dating. They'd talked about Derek's sex life, after all. Maybe that had made Derek realize that it had been a long time since he'd gotten laid...?

If this was Stiles' fault, then he was going to be even more upset about the whole thing.

Not that it should have upset him at all. Stiles had _no_ reason to feel so possessive over Derek. It wasn't any of his business who Derek dated and when he chose to date them. It really, really wasn't. He hadn't cared when Derek had been dating Paige the first time, except that he'd thought that she'd been too nice for Derek.

Which made sense. It wasn't even that Paige was so very nice -- though she was certainly nicer than Erica! -- but it was more that Derek had been kind of a dick to Stiles back then. Heck, up until recently, with the whole watching-movies-together and teaching-him-to-shave and letting-Stiles-come-in-his-room thing.

Now... _now_ Stiles' feelings about Paige and her dating Derek were... decidedly more complicated.

And stupid. Stiles was being _stupid_. Derek was his stepbrother and nothing more. Stiles should just consider himself lucky that they'd been able to get past the weirdness of what had happened on the living room floor that one night. He shouldn't read too much into the wrist grabbing and the chest touching and the fact that Derek had yet to give Stiles back his teeshirt or ask for his own in return....

But did it all mean nothing? It wasn't like Stiles thought Derek could possibly be interested in him sexually. He was a scrawny little kid and Derek had never been shy about letting Stiles know how annoying he found him. And yet....

Stiles couldn't ignore the fact that Derek had touched him a lot more recently than usual. And maybe the way Derek had pinned him to the floor in the living room had been completely aggressive, and maybe the wrist thing in the store had been incidental, but Derek had also touched Stiles' upper lip at the grocery store. Even if he'd just been feeling for mustache hairs, it had still been really intimate.... And he'd put his hand on Stiles' chest in the bathroom, had touched one of his nipples!

But, again, that might have been incidental. No matter how Stiles might wish it had been deliberate.

Anyway, now Derek was _dating Paige Krasikeva_ , again. So all his touching must really not have meant anything.

Well, maybe it was time for Stiles to try dating someone too! Derek wasn't the only one who had outside interests. And while Stiles didn't dare to ask Lydia out while she was in a relationship with Jackson -- who totally did _not_ deserve her, by the way, but she wasn't going to listen to Stiles if he told her so -- that didn't mean that he couldn't aim high.

If Stiles was going to ask someone out on a date, he was going to ask the best looking person that he knew!

Well, next best looking after Derek and Lydia, of course. That kind of went without saying. But since they were both out of reach in their own individual ways, Stiles was going to aim for the very next best thing.

 _Almost_ as good as either Derek or Lydia, and definitely better than Paige Krasikeva.


	6. Chapter 6

Erica Reyes didn't really like spending time at the Stilinski-Hale house. Not because Derek's younger stepbrother, Stiles, was so often there and was insanely annoying, even though he was. And not because it wasn't a nice place, because it really was a nice place and they always had good snacks.

No, the reason Erica didn't really like spending time at the Stilinski-Hale house was because of Talia Stilinski-Hale. Erica always felt as though she was being judged when Derek's mother looked at her.

But Derek's mother wasn't home right now, and neither was Stiles; a double win as far as Erica was concerned. Though Stiles would probably be getting home any time now.

She, Boyd, Isaac, and of course Derek had all headed over as soon as school had let out, and since they'd driven they had reached the house well before Stiles would, seeing as he had to take the bus. And that was if he didn't go over to Scott McCall's house before coming home. Erica hoped he'd go to the McCall's. Let them deal with him.

In the meantime Erica stretched out on the sofa, taking advantage of the fact that she had it to herself, and wiggled her toes, sighing contentedly. 

"Boyd, get me a soda," she ordered, waving a hand imperiously. 

"Get it yourself," he grunted, stretching his legs out where he was sitting on the ugly shag carpeting by the recliner. Erica would never understand his predilection for avoiding furniture, but at least he never tried to make her join him in groveling on the floor.

"Chivalry is dead," she mourned, slinging an arm over her eyes; though carefully, to avoid smearing her mascara. 

"Would _you_ get _me_ a soda if I ordered you to, without even saying please?" Boyd asked, reasonably enough.

Erica sighed, moving her arm and rolling her eyes, but she had to admit he had a point. "No," she admitted. "But I might get you some chips."

Boyd snorted affectionately. "Then you can get your own soda while you're getting those chips," he said.

"Asshole," she accused without heat, flipping him off without looking. 

She and Boyd weren't officially dating, but neither of them dated anyone else and they had some awesome sex at the same time that they hung out as friends, so Erica didn't feel the need to change things. She'd seen too many high school "couples" break up and the ugly aftermath, and she had no desire to go through that herself. 

So far Boyd seemed to be on the same boat, so to speak. He was a big boy who could take care of himself and Erica figured that if he'd wanted to make it official between them he'd have said something to her by this point. So he must feel that same way she did, right?

Or maybe he was afraid of commitment, like Derek seemed to be. Either way, Erica kept Boyd as a friend and they still got to have amazing sex, so she had no plans to press the issue.

Some people -- most likely Derek's mother included -- thought that Erica was lacking in ladylike behavior. She hung out with three guys, she didn't have any female friends, she could hold her own with said guys in sports, drinking, belching....

So, yeah, maybe she dressed a little provocatively and wore thick eyeliner and bright red lipstick in an effort to remind people she was a girl. But maybe she just liked the attention her looks and body gained her. Or maybe she did it for Boyd. Even Erica herself wasn't clear on her motivation.

Derek and Isaac treated her like one of them. Boyd for the most part did the same, only with an understated undertone of chivalry; which, despite her mocking words, he did have and exercise. Enough to charm her, not enough to piss her off. He wouldn't go fetch her a soda on order, but he'd make sure she got the last slice of her favorite pizza and he _did_ open doors for her. 

And, of course, he didn't treat her like a guy when they were banging. She'd actually had to get on him at first for trying to be too gentle! Not that she liked it rough, but she enjoyed enthusiasm. She liked to think that she could cause a guy to lose control. Especially someone as naturally quiet and reserved as Boyd.

Anyway. Here Erica was, no soda and no chips. All because Boyd treated her like one of the guys. Just the way she liked it, but was it too much to ask to occasionally be waited on hand and foot?

Naturally, Derek had to go and ruin her brooding over the injustice of the universe in general and her not-boyfriend specifically by bringing them all sodas and dumping four full-size, unopened bags of different flavored chips on the coffee table.

Erica sat up, moving her feet so that Derek could sit down and also so she could drink soda without spilling all over herself.

"So, Derek," Isaac said from where he was leaning over the back of the recliner. No one sat in it but Derek, because it was his stepfather's chair when the whole family was home, but Derek was slumped on the sofa right now. "How'd your date with Paige go?"

Erica turned her attention to Derek, laser-like. She'd meant to ask that question all day, but hadn't had the opportunity.

Derek shrugged, sipping his soda, looking strangely contemplative. "All right."

Erica and Boyd raised their brows at each other.

"That doesn't sound very exciting," Erica commented, because she knew Boyd wouldn't. "I wasn't expecting you to gush about how amazing it was, but only 'all right' after giving you guys a second chance? Ouch, Derek."

He shrugged again, and now he looked uncomfortable, the way he did whenever he had to talk about emotions. 

"It went all right," he repeated adamantly. "But I don't think she'll gonna want to go out again. I don't think I will either. We had a spark last time we dated, but it's not there anymore."

"You mean you're no longer being an asshole to her and so she doesn't have to respond in kind anymore," Boyd unexpectedly spoke up, smirking at Derek. Erica blinked, mulling that over. It was actually pretty accurate. 

She hadn't been friends with Derek back then, still in the middle of her own ugly, awkward phase, but she could remember Derek swaggering around school, overcompensating for _something_ , teasing and taunting and not quite being a bully, but not very far from it.

And Paige Krasikeva had been one hundred percent unwilling to put up with his shit, which had translated somehow into Derek developing some kind of obsession over her, and persisting until she'd agreed to go out with him....

Erica didn't know how that had gone once they'd started dating. Not even the healthy, super-powered high school rumor factory had gone there. But once they'd called things quits Derek and Paige had remained polite acquaintances, neither one acting like they were heartbroken. 

Derek _had_ toned down his aggressive posturing, though, so something good had come out of it.

Derek was glaring at Boyd now, but there was no real heat behind it. Oh, he wasn't happy. But it wasn't like he was going to beat Boyd up, or even snap back at him for putting it into words. It might have been a little harsh, but they all knew it was true.

"That's too bad," Erica said, "You guys make a cute couple."

She may have said that, and it may have been true, but she was secretly glad it hadn't worked out. She _liked_ having all three of these guys to herself. She didn't dislike Paige in particular, but the two of them didn't have much in common aside from being the same gender. 

She knew that someday Derek would find someone, someday Isaac would stop being a picky bitch and start dating, and, anyway, they were unlikely to all four of them be going to the same college, but.... Well, for right now, at least, she was glad that the status quo wasn't going to drastically change.

Derek shrugged and looked as though he was about to say something, but just then Stiles slammed into the house.

He literally _slammed_ into the house. Stiles was noisy at the best of times, but he didn't usually fling open the door so hard it rebounded, then crash it closed behind him so violently that it legitimately shook the walls. 

Derek actually looked alarmed, and he scooted to the edge of the sofa, ready to rise.

Boyd went still and Erica held her breath as Stiles stormed through the living room on his way to the stairs, clearly on the verge of tears, his face red and blotchy, his chin raised up high, his hands clenched into fists. Erica wasn't fond of the kid, but she felt a little bad for him in this moment -- whatever he was upset about, he obviously felt like it was pretty world-shattering -- and she was smart enough to keep quiet and not risk making things worse.

Isaac, however, was _not_ so smart.

"What the hell is your problem?" he asked Stiles, turning to face the kid.

"Isaac," Derek said warningly, standing up, but before he could move or say anything else Stiles had detoured slightly and Erica watched in shock and something akin to awe as he hauled off and punched Isaac right in the crotch.

Isaac went down with a high pitched yelp, Stiles practically flew upstairs, and Derek just kind of stood there for a few moments, hands hanging limply at his sides, eye round and jaw hanging loose in shock.

Once she got over her own shock Erica clapped a hand tightly over her mouth. Because none of the guys would forgive her if she laughed at Isaac getting punched in the groin, no matter whether he'd deserved it or not. She _wanted_ to laugh. Stiles had finally taken Isaac down, and it had been hysterical. 

Okay, maybe not for Isaac. And evidently not for Stiles, either. 

But Erica thought it was funny.

"I wonder what happened," Boyd mused, frowning slightly. He made no move to aid Isaac, who was curled up on the floor behind the recliner, clutching at his crotch and letting out pitiful little sounds of agony.

"I'll text Scott," Derek said, grabbing his phone. He also made no move toward Isaac, so Erica felt less bad about her internal amusement.

"Should you go up and ask Stiles directly?" Boyd prodded.

Derek looked at him like he was crazy. "He's not going to want me trying to talk to him while he's crying," he said, and he had a point. From the way he'd looked when he'd come home, there was no way Stiles wasn't bawling his eyes out right now. And no boy wanted an audience to their breakdowns. Hell, Erica would have castrated any of her friends if they'd come after her when she was crying the way Stiles surely was. 

Not that she'd cried like that in a while. And she wasn't planning on crying like that again for a long time, if ever. She couldn't help it; she felt a little bad for Stiles. No one should cry like that, for any reason. Also, she was a little worried about _what_ had gotten the kid so upset.

"I hope everything's okay," Erica said, grimacing and sipping her soda to try and cover her nerves. If anything was wrong with Stiles' father, that was going to affect Derek and put a damper on the day. He _was_ the Sheriff, though, and even though Beacon Hills was a pretty quiet place, bad things did happen....

"Huh." Derek stared at his phone, and he looked nonplussed, but not as upset as Stiles had been, so Erica relaxed a little.

"What's up?" she asked, because now that she was fairly sure it wasn't anything as disastrous as Stiles had evidently felt it to be, she was insatiably curious.

Derek's lips went tight and he looked as though he wasn't going to share whatever McCall had texted him, which was going to piss Erica off, but then the doorbell rang and when Derek went to answer it they could hear what was happening in the hall, and Erica found out what had happened after all.

Well, Erica and Boyd listened in. Isaac was still lost in a world of pain, still clutching at his junk and whining like the little bitch that he could so often be.

+=+=+

Danny Mahealani had not expected to end his school day standing on the Stilinski-Hale family's doorstep, facing the fierce eyebrows of Stiles' older stepbrother.

And yet here he was.

Well, he hadn't been expecting to find himself rudely blowing Stiles off when his classmate had tried to ask him out after school had ended. He'd _assumed_ that Stiles had been fucking around, and in his defense he'd had no idea Stiles wasn't completely straight; his crush on Lydia Martin was legendary throughout Beacon Hills Junior High, after all. 

Bad enough Danny had been the asshole, albeit without meaning to have been. But then, after Stiles had turned tail and fled, Danny had found himself confronted by Scott McCall. His puppy-dog eyes had stared at Danny from under floppy bangs with abject disappointment, and he'd quietly informed Danny that he'd been very rude after Stiles had spent all day working up the nerve to ask him out.

After making sure that the two weren't double-teaming him in order to mess with his head, once he'd made sure McCall was serious when he said that Stiles had _meant_ it when he'd asked him out, Danny had known there was only one thing to do.

There was no way he could go out with Stiles -- not only would it lower his social standing, but he couldn't be sure this wasn't a ploy to get close to Lydia, no matter how earnestly McCall believed Stiles had meant his request -- but Danny could remember the way Stiles' face had collapsed when he'd shot him down, and even though he didn't want to go out on a date with the kid, he would never have been such a jerk if he'd known it was a serious request. 

Danny might be best friends with Jackson Whittemore, but he wasn't a bad guy himself. And so the only thing to do was to go and apologize to Stiles. Then let him down gently, because he wasn't about to date him. Still, an apology was in order, and then maybe Danny could kindly suggest that Stiles lower his standards a little, to someone more his own level where coolness -- or the lack thereof -- was concerned.

But apologizing to Stiles meant _getting_ to Stiles. Which evidently meant getting _through_ Derek. And that was proving to be both immensely intimidating and increasingly improbable.

"What do you want," had been Derek's greeting, and he hadn't even bothered making it a question, frowning fiercely at Danny as he spat the words out. It was on another planet from polite, but since he was here to apologize to Derek's younger stepbrother for crushing his heart like a grape -- and since Derek was so much bigger than he was -- Danny let it slide.

"Is Stiles home?" he asked, standing perfectly still and trying to look as open and non-defensive as possible. He'd come over on his bike as soon as he'd finished talking to McCall, so if Stiles had made any detours along the way or been in any way delayed Danny could have conceivably beaten him here.

"Yes."

Or not. And that blunt response gave Danny nothing, no leeway whatsoever.

"Can I speak you him?" Danny asked, still maintaining his manners because one of them needed to.

"Why do you want to?"

At least that time it had been a question. A belligerent, harshly asked question. But Danny knew the answer to it, at least.

"I'm here to apologize to him."

He'd been standing like a doofus on the front porch, Derek a huge hulk of hotness blocking the doorway with his muscles and his scary eyebrows, but as he spoke those words, Danny felt hard hands fist in his shirt over his chest and he found himself dragged inside and slammed into the wall beside the front door.

"What are you apologizing for?" Derek growled, and his voice wasn't usually that low and intimidating; Danny didn't know the guy well, but he knew that much. "What did you do?"

Danny grimaced, trying to ignore the way his heart was pounding with fight-or-flight reaction to being manhandled like this. He was no wilting flower, he played lacrosse and swam and was in good shape, but Derek was a senior in high school and he obviously worked out obsessively. If he wanted to, he could easily mop the floor with Danny.

So evidently Stiles had beaten him here in time to share what had happened. Either that or Derek was that protective of his younger stepsibling. As an older brother Danny understood, and he just hoped he wasn't going to end up getting punched in the face. He'd been an asshole, yeah, but he hadn't _meant_ to be and he didn't think he quite deserved physical harm....

"He--" Danny's voice squeaked and he paused to clear his throat, speaking more normally as he continued. "He tried to ask me out today and I thought he was bullshitting me so I shot him down, but evidently according to McCall he was serious so now I owe him an apology."

It came out in a rush, a little too breathless for Danny's peace of mind, but at least Derek took a step back and stopped leaning into him like he was going to push him right through the wall.

"What?" Derek asked blankly. So Stiles must not have shared the occurrence with his family yet.

"Um." Danny couldn't really clarify it any further; he'd laid it out pretty thoroughly, in small enough words that Derek should have understood. He wasn't just some dumb jock; Danny knew that Derek actually got pretty good grades. Mostly because Stiles alternately bragged and complained about his "perfect" stepbrother where everyone could hear, whether they cared or not. But he seemed to be having trouble parsing Danny's meaning here and now.

"Wait, Stiles did _what_?" 

That was Erica... R-something, Danny couldn't remember her last name. She was a senior too, friends with Derek, and she was peering around the corner, staring at Danny with big eyes surrounded by too much mascara that was too dark for her coloring, her pretty face slack with shock.

"Shut up, Erica," Derek snapped, shooting her a glare that Danny was glad he wasn't on the wrong side of. But then he _was_ , because Derek turned back to him, those thick eyebrows speaking more than the harshest words ever could.

"Stiles did what?" he asked, biting out each word.

"Um." Danny cast about, trying to think how he could rephrase it when he'd already said pretty much everything that needed to be said. "After school Stiles tried to ask me out on a date and I thought he was kidding. I mean, I'm not Lydia and I didn't _know_ he was bi. And I was really kind of an asshole when I turned him down, because I thought he was messing with me, but according to McCall he was serious. So now I need to apologize to him. Can I speak to him?"

He tacked on that last even though he'd _already_ asked before because Derek didn't seem inclined to move, much less direct him to Stiles' bedroom, and he wasn't here to talk to Derek, he was here to talk to _Stiles_.

Derek had let go of his shirt entirely, thankfully, and had taken another step back, but he was still looming and even though he looked more confused than murderous, his gaze fixed unseeing over Danny's shoulder, his eyebrows were still bent at an intimidating angle.

"Really?" That was Erica again, still lingering in the doorway to what Danny assumed was the living room, her eyes wide and bright, her red-painted lips curved up in a wicked smile. "Didn't know the kid had it in him. Ballsy to aim so high."

Danny winced internally. It sounded worse when she said it, but he really... he _couldn't_ go out with Stiles, he just wasn't interested. It was kind of cool that a high school senior recognized that Danny was above Stiles' level socially, but she made it sound so... mean.

"Erica, get the hell out of here!" Derek snarled at her.

Danny pressed back against the wall, suitably spooked by Derek's rage even if it wasn't aimed at him, but Erica just blew out a rude raspberry sound and faded away, completely unrattled. Danny was sure she was still listening, but he had more pressing matters to turn his attention to as Derek spun to face him again, face like a storm cloud.

"C-can I just go and--" Danny tried, but Derek cut him off harshly.

"No." 

He swallowed tightly as Derek glowered. This was so unfair. He'd come to apologize to Stiles and get the hell out, not be given a frightening third degree by Stiles' hot-but-scary older stepbrother.

Derek just stood there, staring at him. Danny swallowed again, fighting the urge to fidget nervously. Derek was _gorgeous_ , with his chiseled cheekbones and wide-set, pale eyes of indeterminate color, his stubbled jaw and his plush pink lips. But he was also freaky as hell, and he was focused intently on Danny. Not in a good way.

When he did speak, though, it wasn't anything Danny would have expected.

"Is there anyone bullying Stiles at school?"

"Huh?" Danny was a smart guy, he wasn't slow in any way, but this was a complete switch and it took him a second to catch up. "I'm not.... I _told_ you, I didn't think he was serious! I wouldn't have been so rude if I'd known he _meant_ \--"

"No," Derek interrupted, looking frustrated. Danny was feeling frustrated too, and that was all Derek's fault. He just wanted to talk to Stiles....

"Oh my God, Derek," Erica called from the living room, and Danny seconded that, but he didn't appreciate the way it made Derek frown even harder, especially since he was still staring right at him.

"Butt out, Erica!" Derek snapped over his shoulder, then stared at Danny some more.

"Um." Danny gave it a moment's thought, because it didn't look like Derek was going to let him go until he'd had his question answered. "I guess maybe.... No, not really."

Derek's eyes narrowed, brows creasing in the middle, but Danny didn't want to narc Jackson out. If _anyone_ was bullying Stiles it was most likely to be Jackson Whittemore... but Jackson was Danny's best friend. Danny wasn't about to tell Derek that Jackson's needling of Stiles sometimes passed over the border into too much. Especially not when Derek was obviously this prone to violence.

"Shake him until he spills the goods!"

"Erica!"

Now it was Danny's turn to glare in Erica's direction, because he wouldn't put it past Derek to do just that.

Erica muttered something that Danny couldn't make out and he heard a masculine snort of amusement from the same direction. That must have been one of Derek's other friends. Great, there was more than one high school senior listening in.

But the fact that they had an audience didn't really matter as Derek turned back to Danny and scowled at him. Danny just wanted to get out of the house without Derek giving him a beat-down for hurting his stepbrother's feelings.

"Look," Danny said, taking half a step sideways toward the door, cautiously, bracing himself to be grabbed again, hoping he wouldn't be, "I just came here to apologize to Stiles. If you're not gonna let me see him, then I should get going. I'll apologize at school tomorrow. It'll be better if I do it in public anyway, since I shot him down in public. Right?"

Derek's eyebrows were down again, and Danny was starting to wonder if he'd be able to get out of the house unscathed. He hadn't come here for this. He'd just wanted to tell Stiles he was sorry and then get out.

"Who's bullying Stiles?" he asked, keeping his voice low and leaning in, as though he didn't want his friends in the living room to hear.

"No one," Danny reiterated, even though he knew Derek didn't and wouldn't believe him. "Just-- I just came to apologize for hurting his feelings, okay? But if I can't go talk to him, just let me leave!"

Derek blinked, looking a little taken aback by the desperation in Danny's voice.

"Jesus, Derek," floated over from the living room, but Erica sounded as much amused as exasperated. Easy for her, since she wasn't the one being glared into the wall.

"You're going to apologize to him at school tomorrow," Derek said, and Danny honestly wasn't sure whether he meant it as a statement or a question, but he nodded anyway. He'd already said as much, but if Derek felt the need to give him the order, he'd make extra sure he went through with it. If it would get him out of this house now and away from Derek and his intense, grim stare.

"I will," Danny said, reaching over blindly and fumbling for the doorknob. "I will."

"If I find out you didn't, I'll _make_ you," Derek informed him menacingly, and Danny wasn't a coward but a guy had his breaking point and Derek had driven Danny up to his breaking point and over the edge.

"I will!" he blurted, then made his way out the door and down to his bike as quickly as he could without outright running. 

Okay, maybe he _did_ run a little. But he challenged anyone not to run away from the full force of Derek Stilinski-Hale's eyebrows of doom!

No wimping out; tomorrow he would have to apologize to Stiles in public, or Derek would find out about it and _get_ him.

Not that he minded doing it so much, Danny thought as he pedaled away. But he'd still rather have done it here, this afternoon, in the privacy of Stiles' bedroom. And he'd rather do it without the threat of Derek's wrath hanging over his head.

It might not be a bad idea to warn Jackson to lay off of Stiles a little. If Derek starting asking the same question of, say, Scott McCall, he might get a different answer than the one Danny had given him.

Danny headed for home, happy to have escaped from the Stilinski-Hale home, a little peeved that he hadn't gotten to talk to Stiles, and hoping that Stiles wasn't _too_ upset at him.

If the expression on his face before he'd fled the school had been anything to go by, though, Stiles was probably pretty upset with Danny. Dammit. Well, he would make it right. Tomorrow. And _not_ because Derek had ordered him to do so.

Danny still wasn't going to date Stiles. But once he'd adjusted to the idea that Stiles had been serious when he had asked....

Well, it _was_ kind of flattering. Ridiculous but flattering.

+=+=+

Boyd still couldn't believe that Stiles had nut-punched Isaac. That had been pretty ballsy -- pun only somewhat intended -- and Isaac had deserved it. Maybe not so much in the moments before it had happened, but he'd been picking in Stiles for a long time.

The trigger might have been Stiles' emotional upheaval over being rejected by the boy he'd asked out, but Isaac had been being a real douche to Stiles for years now, and it was no wonder the kid had evidently had enough.

Boyd himself had a tough time being around Stiles, but it had nothing to do with how scattered and awkward he could be even when he was at his best. Yeah, Stiles could be pretty annoying sometimes, but that wasn't the issue Boyd had with him.

It was actually because Stiles reminded Boyd of his sister. Who he still missed so much it ached, deep in his chest. She hadn't been as spastic, of course, or as prone to accidents, but Stiles was a good kid with a good heart who meant well, and those were traits he definitely shared with Boyd's sister.

Boyd _did_ feel bad for Stiles right now, though. Romantically rejected and outted to his family in the same day, all in one glorious swoop. 

Maybe Stiles shouldn't have aimed as high as he had -- even though they were only in junior high it was clear that Danny ranked above Stiles socially, as evidenced by the fact that Boyd even knew who Danny Mahealani _was_ \-- but that in itself could be an admirable trait, that he didn't care about things like cliques or popularity. It was unfortunate, then, it had gone so badly for him.

Stiles was loud and _seemed_ confident, but Boyd suspected that he was actually a lot more self conscious than the image he projected. With a buff, handsome, successful older stepbrother like Derek, it wasn't really a surprise that Stiles might come off feeling second-best.

Which had made his move in asking out one of the popular, attractive boys from his school very bold and worthy of respect. 

Unfortunately, it had also made sure that the boy in question had thought he was joking, which had gotten him blown off in turn.

Damn, Derek was pissed, Boyd thought as his friend stamped back into the living room. He didn't act so protective of Stiles when Erica and Isaac picked on him, and they were usually even meaner than Danny Mahealani had evidently been. 

Well, maybe that was going to change now. If something had changed recently in the way Derek thought of Stiles, if he'd finally, _finally_ begun thinking of him as his younger brother instead of an inconvenient brat he was forced to live with, maybe he'd start stepping up and making sure that his friends stopped picking on Stiles.

Boyd wasn't deeply invested in this situation but he thought it would be nice. Siblings should stick together while they had each other; even if they were only siblings by marriage. Boyd had never let his sister down... until he had. But never on purpose, and he'd have given _anything_ to get her back, up to and including his own life.

That was getting pretty dark, though, and he was still amused that Stiles had out and out nut-punched Isaac. So he should focus more on that than his own devastating loss. At least right now.

"Shit, Derek, I'm sorry," Erica was saying, her expression painfully earnest, as Derek stalked into the room. His eyebrows threatened complete and utter disaster and Boyd tried to telepathically communicate with Erica to tell her to step carefully. It wouldn't work, of course, but he had to do what he could and hew knew from experience that he wouldn't be able to derail her until she'd had her say, whatever it was.

"For what?" Derek growled out. "Butting in on my conversation with Stiles' classmate? You should be sorry!" 

"No, not for that," Erica said dismissively, waving a hand, then her expression grew more earnest. "But I never would have teased Stiles about him and McCall if I'd known he actually _was_ gay." 

Derek's brows went up instead of down, which was a good sign, but he still looked like he was spoiling for a fight. 

"He's probably bisexual," Boyd pointed out calmly. There was no way Stiles was faking the Lydia thing, though it seemed now as though he'd moved on... or at least branched out.

"You should stop being so mean to him in general," Derek said, and he sounded and looked less angry, which was good. He looked very serious, though. "It wasn't so bad when he was a kid, but he's a teenager now. He takes the things you say seriously and they hurt his feelings. It's not like it used to be."

Erica pulled a sour face. Boyd nodded, though. It was good that Derek had finally noticed and was saying something about it. 

"Are we going to talk about the fact that Stiles hit me in the dick?" Isaac spoke up, his voice thin and strained. He'd managed to drag himself up into the recliner and was slumped in it, hands buried in his crotch, his face pale, sweat dewing his upper lip and temples.

"You kind of deserved it," Boyd said, because he wasn't sure whether Derek was planning to. Then he stood and went into the kitchen to get a bag of frozen vegetables out of the freezer. He was a nice guy like that... though Mrs. Stilinski-Hale might argue next time she wanted to cook some corn.

"All I did was ask him why he came slamming in the house," he could hear Isaac whining. As he walked back into the living room, Derek was answering, arms folded, face stern.

"It was the way you said it. And let's be honest; this has been building for a while. You've never been nice to Stiles, not since the first day you met him."

"Well, neither have you," Isaac snapped, accepting the corn from Boyd and shoving the bag between his legs, then letting out a pained yowl. "Goddamn it! Ow-ow-ow!!"

Derek ignored Isaac's distress, his face going lax with surprise, his arms falling by his sides.

"I haven't...."

"You're kind of a jerk to him in general," Erica said. Boyd sat beside her on the sofa and accepted the half-finished soda that Derek had gotten her, taking a sip. "Or at least you used to be, back when we first became friends with you."

"I didn't think I was," Derek said, sounding a little lost. Then his features firmed. "I mean, it wasn't like he was all sweetness and light to me either back then, you know."

"You're the older brother," Boyd said, speaking the hard truths. It seemed that Derek needed to hear them. "You gotta look out for your younger siblings. Even if they annoy you."

Derek sent him a betrayed look. It was possible Boyd should have told him this earlier, but he really hadn't felt like it was his business. It still wasn't, but Erica and Derek had brought the subject up, and so he wanted to make sure Derek knew where he stood.

Of all of them, Boyd had the most insight into the matter. Isaac had an older brother and Erica was an only child. Boyd was the one who'd had a younger sister... and lost her. He still hurt every day over this knowledge. He always would. He knew how important family was, and he wanted to do his best to make sure that Derek understood as well. None of his friends actually knew about his loss -- he wanted it that way, didn't want their pity -- but he was sure that they could all hear the resolution and the experience in his tone.

"Erica, you wanna go to my place?" Boyd asked, and she shrugged which meant yes. "Derek, you should go talk to Stiles after we leave," Boyd said firmly, giving his friend a serious look that made Derek grimace uncomfortably.

"In case anyone is wondering, I can't move."

Everyone turned to stare at Isaac. He _did_ look pretty pathetic, his face pasty and his mouth tight in a pained frown. Boyd still thought he deserved what he'd gotten though.

"I'll take you home," Derek told Isaac, his brow furrowing. He turned back to Boyd. "Then I'll go talk to Stiles."

He sounded honest, not as though he was humoring him, and Boyd nodded, satisfied. 

Stiles was a smart kid with a good heart, even if he was more than a little obnoxious sometimes, and he would bounce back from being rejected by his classmate. But he might bounce faster with Derek's positive attention focused on him. Just because Boyd wasn't invested, that didn't mean he didn't care. 

Derek was Boyd's friend and he'd be happier if he was being a good older brother, Boyd was sure. 

And Boyd would be happier knowing that Derek was being a good older brother.

"Just try not to make things worse," he told Derek, and then grinned as Derek pulled a sour face at him. It _had_ been a valid warning, though, and Boyd gave Derek even odds.

+=+=+

Talia Stilinski-Hale loved her husband. She loved him more than anyone else on the face of the Earth, aside from her baby, Derek, since the first time he'd been placed her arms after birth, and Stiles, her newer baby, since the first time he'd called her "Mom" without thinking.

But it was because of these two boys that as much as she loved her husband and valued his presence in their home -- something she didn't take for granted with his unpredictable schedule as the town Sheriff -- she also enjoyed the nights that she had without him, when it was just her and her sons.

It wasn't always easy. Derek was mellowing out now that he was getting close to eighteen, but he'd definitely had his years of teenage rebellion. He hadn't acted out so much as he'd acted like everything family-related was the hugest imposition anyone could ask of him. It got old after a while, and Talia had barely kept it from being hurtful by reminding herself what it had been like to be a teenager. All hormones and angst and trying to craft a sense of self separate from parents and siblings....

But Derek had made it through and was doing better now. With college looming, he seemed to actually be realizing that he needed to take advantage of what time he could spend with his mother, because if he didn't attend school close by, he wasn't going to have this very often.

Stiles was tripping headlong into the same puberty that had stolen her Derek away from her for a while, but Talia didn't get the feeling Stiles would react the same way Derek had. If anything, he seemed to be _more_ clingy and needy, rather than pushing her or his father away. But then, he was only thirteen; that could still change.

One thing she truly appreciated, Talia thought as she unlocked the front door and let herself in with a tired but contented sigh, was that Derek and Stiles both seemed to be getting along better now than they had used it, even just a few weeks ago.

It was a lot of little things that added up to make her think so, nothing major shifting between them. Well, the fact that Derek had taken Stiles to look for shaving supplies without protesting was progress, though Talia had been the one to tell him to do so. But she hadn't suggested he teach Stiles to shave that same afternoon. That had been all the boys' idea, and it made her heart swell to see it.

There was also a change in how they regarded one another. In that they _did_. Up until recently, Derek had seemed to be doing his best to ignore Stiles' existence. He hadn't been antagonistic -- well, not for a couple of years now, though it had been different right after their two small families had merged into one larger family -- but there had always been a very obvious disconnect between him and Stiles.

Now, though, the boys were talking to each other without the buffer of one parent or both between them and they seemed to be at ease with one another, rather than behaving like strangers who'd been forced to share living space.

That was how Talia had sometimes seen them, and it had made her ache to try and change it, but every attempt at _forcing_ them to bond had crashed and burned or backfired spectacularly. She knew it wasn't a simple matter. Derek had been used to being the center of her world, and even though she loved Stiles as much as if she had given birth to him as well, the boy could be frustrating and occasionally infuriating. Especially to a teenage who was pressed into spending time with him.

Derek was almost a legal adult now, and despite the four years' difference in their respective ages and the fact that the two of them had very little in common, he seemed to be willing to give his younger stepbrother more of a chance than he ever had before.

And Stiles was flourishing under this attention, as sporadic as it was, Talia thought fondly, toeing off her shoes and dropping her keys in the bowl beside the coat closet. If there was one thing Stiles had always needed from Derek, it was to be _acknowledged_. 

Maybe this was the beginning of a new golden age. She was tentatively hopeful. Well, she had the boys to herself tonight; she'd pay close attention and see how they interacted. 

She was a little disappointed to enter the living room and find only Derek sitting on the sofa, glaring at his laptop as though it had personally offended him. Even with the scowl -- or maybe _because_ of it -- he was just as adorable as he had been when he'd been a toddler, she thought lovingly, leaning against the back of the sofa and sinking her fingers in his hair.

"Hey, Mom," he said, closing the laptop and tilting his head back. Talia tugged her hand free, grimacing internally at the product Derek was _still_ using in his hair, even though she'd told him repeatedly that he looked better without it. Well, what boy listened to his mother when it came to fashion advice? Even if she actually did know best.

"Hey, sweetie." She leaned further and kissed his temple, because she was still feeling an overflow of affection. For both her boys, in fact, so she asked; "Where's Stiles?"

Derek set his laptop carefully down on the coffee table before answering. "He's in his bedroom. He has a migraine."

"What?" Talia was immediately defensive. The only times that Stiles got migraines was when he'd worked himself up so much that he cried himself sick or else had a panic attack. Neither of which was a good thing. She wanted to run right up to her baby boy, but she'd be more likely to get answers from Derek, since he was actually able to talk. Stiles probably wouldn't be, not if he had a migraine.

"What happened?" she asked fiercely. Someone must have upset Stiles to the point of breakdown, and she wanted to know who and why!

Derek looked almost as angry as she felt, so she was fairly sure _he_ hadn't caused Stiles' distress, even before he spoke.

"He tried to ask someone out at school today, and it didn't go well."

Talia frowned. Stiles was too young for dating, but that didn't stop a lot of kids his age. Speaking of which.... "Was it Lydia Martin?" She could see that girl breaking Stiles' heart without even trying. She seemed the type, and Talia would like to say that she couldn't understand Stiles' fascination with her, but she really could. Especially since Stiles had more than once gone into great detail as to the reasons behind his "love" for Lydia Martin. Far more than once. Far, far more.

Derek was shaking his head, though. "No. It was... someone else. They came to apologize, but I didn't let them upstairs. No one got hurt, but Stiles did punch Isaac in the balls. Well, so, I guess someone got hurt, technically, but Isaac deserved it."

Talia couldn't help grinning a little at that last, and Derek actually smirked back, even though it was his friend who'd gotten nut-punched. She had noted Derek's careful use of pronouns and drew the logical conclusion. She wasn't actually surprised, at all, and she knew that Stiles' father wouldn't be either. In fact, she'd have been far more surprised if Stiles _hadn't_ been just as likely to ask a boy out as a girl.

"How is he now?" she asked, because in her experience migraines had stages, especially the way Stiles suffered them. She wanted nothing more than to go up and look in on him, but not if it was going to cause him even more pain.

Derek shrugged. "He was asleep when I came down here. I gave him half a Vicodin out of the bottle left over from when you broke your wrist... I hope that was okay?"

Talia nodded. "If it was just half, that's fine. You probably should have texted me first, but I might not have seen it, so it was a good judgment call. He might be okay to go check on now."

Normally Vicodin ramped Stiles up with excessive energy -- since his ADHD gave him opposite reactions to a lot of drugs -- but if he was drained from crying and dealing with a migraine, then nothing was going to perk him up.

"Should I start dinner while you check on Stiles?" Derek asked.

"Good idea." Talia smiled at her beautiful, loving son as he rose off the sofa. Then a thought occurred to her. "If it was a classmate who turned Stiles down, then why did he punch _Isaac_?"

Derek shrugged. "Isaac was a dick when Stiles came home, he was rude, and Stiles probably figured his crotch was an easier target than his face or stomach. More on his level, and guaranteed to put Isaac on the floor."

"That's my boy," Talia said, smiling broadly, even though her heart was aching for Stiles. It was never fun being rejected, and he'd dared to ask someone out when he was so young.... Well, Stiles did tend to be precocious, so she wasn't really that surprised.

Derek laughed, which Talia took as another good sign. He was siding with Stiles rather than Isaac, and had done his best to take care of his brother, getting him half a pain pill and presumably doing whatever else he could to ease Stiles' migraine.

"How heartbroken is he, if it wasn't Lydia who turned him down?" she asked, wanting to know what she was headed into. "Were you able to talk to him about it at all?"

Derek shook his head. "He was in too much pain, really. I drove Isaac home, and by the time I got back and went to Stiles' room he'd cried himself out. I got him the half a pill and hung a blanket over his window to try to block out all the light I could. He almost threw the water back up, and he definitely couldn't talk to me. I didn't ask him anything because I knew it would hurt his head more if I did. I just told him to take the pill and try to sleep."

Talia grimaced, but Derek was right. She'd only ever had two migraines in her entire life, but they'd been less fun than anything else, including childbirth, so she definitely had sympathy for Stiles, who was far more prone to getting them.

"I'll see how he's doing. It might just be dinner for the two of us," she said.

"Well, I'll make enough for four," Derek said, shrugging. "And we can save some for Stiles and Dad. Leftovers are better than nothing."

Talia had to come around the sofa and give Derek a hug for that. Her older son was growing into a responsible young man that she was becoming increasingly proud of. She also hugged him because she knew she wouldn't get to hold Stiles once she went upstairs; not with his head hurting so badly any jostling would make him feel as though his skull was splitting. 

"Thank you," she said simply. Then she added, "I'll come down and help you soon. I'm sure that Stiles won't want me hanging around in his room too long."

Derek hugged her back, which was nice because he hadn't always done that in the last few years. "He'll be okay," he told her. "The kid who turned him down is going to apologize at school, they said. And if they don't, I'm going to make them."

Talia smiled, but felt compelled to chide, "No violence, Derek."

"I know, Mom," he said, rolling his eyes. "I'm not beating up on an eighth grader."

Talia smiled, heading upstairs. Not that she'd been in any doubt before, but now she was even more convinced that Stiles had asked a male classmate out on a date. Derek was still carefully avoiding personal pronouns, plus he'd have reacted _far_ more negatively to Talia's warning about violence if it had been a girl who'd rejected Stiles. 

She was fine with it, that Stiles had asked a boy out. It would have been ridiculous to feel otherwise. She was just unhappy that this boy had evidently turned Stiles down and her son had been upset enough to cry himself into a migraine. 

Well, Stiles never did anything by halves. She just hoped that his crush on this unnamed eighth grader wasn't as intense as his crush on Lydia Martin. She didn't know if the family could handle a second Lydia Martin.

Stiles was only thirteen right now. He would get more emotional as he went made his way further into puberty. Would they be able to deal with how fixated he was going to get on each person he got a crush on?

But they would all of them cross that bridge when they came to it. In the meantime, she had a baby boy who was in pain in his darkened bedroom, and she just really hoped that her checking on him wasn't going to make him feel worse.

She couldn't not, though. Stiles was her son as much as Derek was, and she was going to make sure he was okay. Then maybe she would discuss the boy who had broken Stiles' heart with Derek while they made dinner. 

And hopefully she would be able to talk his father out of going after this kid with his gun on display. Because she was pretty sure that Derek had already put the fear of God into him when he'd shown up here, before Derek had run him off. The last thing Stiles needed at school was a reputation for having his Sheriff father fighting his battles for him.

Still, Talia was glad and beyond glad that Derek was willing to look out for his brother. It made her think that they really _were_ acting like brothers now. And even though she was upset for Stiles, that thought made her heart feel full of love for them both.

She loved her boys and she wanted them to love each other. That was all she had ever wanted for them.


	7. Chapter 7

Derek had done the best he could to limit the fallout from Stiles' violent return home. He'd downplayed the fact that Stiles had punched Isaac in the balls. He'd warned his Mom about Stiles' migraine. He hadn't said anything about the fact that the classmate that had turned Stiles down had been a guy....

That final piece of discretion hadn't really mattered, because as soon as Stiles was recovered enough to talk he'd told both their parents all about it and he hadn't been shy about having been turned down by Danny Mahealani. 

Not that either of them had cared. Derek wasn't surprised by this, considering that they'd raised both Derek and Stiles to be open-minded and accepting, but he _was_ a little surprised that Stiles had been so ready to spout it out, hadn't even seemed to have thought about prevaricating.

He was also somewhat surprised when Stiles wandered into his bedroom the next afternoon without being invited in. Granted, Derek had left his door ajar which he normally didn't do -- probably in the subconscious hope that Stiles _would_ come in -- but he hadn't actually thought that Stiles might.

"Hey," Stiles said, fidgeting uncomfortably where he was standing just inside the door. He looked better than he had the day before, or even that morning before school, though his eyes were still a little red and his cheeks were a little pale.

"Hey." Derek spun in his desk chair and stared at Stiles for a moment before realizing that it probably came off as kind of weird. "Um, you can sit," he offered, waving a hand toward his bed. Sort of in reverse of where they had been last time Stiles had been in his room.

Stiles' eyes went wide, but then he scampered over to the bed and plopped down as directed. Derek forced himself to stop thinking about how easy it would be to leave his chair and pounce Stiles into the mattress he was perched on the edge of.

"Thanks," Stiles said, sinking his fingers into Derek's bedsheets to either side of him and kicking his feet a little. He always had to be in motion. "For... you know. For...."

"Did Danny apologize to you today?" Derek asked, interrupting without guilt when Stiles failed to get to the point. 

He'd texted Scott with the same question but hadn't yet received an answer. People thought Stiles was scatterbrained and easily distracted, but Derek felt that sometimes it was harder to pin Scott McCall down. When he answered, he was more likely to be honest than Stiles, who tended to prevaricate, it was true. But _getting_ him to answer was often the struggle.

Then again, even when asked a direct question Scott wasn't _always_ forthcoming. When Derek had texted him yesterday afternoon to ask why Stiles had just come home in tears, all Scott had texted back was that Stiles had gotten his heart crushed. No name, no specifics, and he'd misspelled three words in the five word reply. 

That situation had involved Stiles, though, and Scott tended to be as protective over him as Stiles was over Scott. Derek had only wanted to help, obviously, but Scott didn't tend to take the long view of things. As admirable as his loyalty to Stiles could be, it did sometimes make things harder on them both, not easier.

Of course, the same could be said about Stiles. Hell, he was even _more_ loyal toward and protective of his best friend than Scott was of Stiles, as impossible as that might seem. 

But Stiles, unlike Scott, had the ability to see the bigger picture. Derek was a little disconcerted to find himself recognizing Stiles' good points for a change... but why not? The kid had lots of them. It was about time Derek acknowledged this and allowed himself to appreciated them.

Derek had spent so much time allowing himself to be annoyed by Stiles that he hadn't really processed the fact that Stiles wasn't always annoying. Because he wasn't, not always.

Stiles nodded, his soft hair flopping in his eyes. He really needed a trim. Derek was starting to think maybe he should offer to take him to the barber, because if he sent him with either of their parents Stiles would be likely to either buzz it or getting an unflattering, unstylish cut. And maybe he wasn't supposed to care about how Stiles looked, but he couldn't help it; he _did_ care. Derek liked to think he would still care even if he wasn't lusting after Stiles in a completely inappropriate manner. And that he'd still care after he _stopped_ lusting after Stiles, because he _had_ to stop; Stiles was his _stepbrother_!

"Yeah," Stiles verified. "Danny apologized in front of my locker, just like I tried to ask him out in front of his." 

His voice was still somewhat hoarse, and Derek thought longingly of beating up Danny Mahealani. Just a little bit, because he hated that this guy had hurt Stiles' feelings so badly. His Mom had said no, though. And Derek really shouldn't be going around beating up eighth graders, no matter how much they might deserve it. At least Danny had followed through on his promise to apologize.

"Jackson looked like he was smelling a really bad fart," Stiles continued, grinning crookedly at the memory. "And then Danny told him to shut up even though he hadn't said anything. That kind of made up for Danny telling me that the answer was still no." Stiles looked sad but resigned over this fact. "At least he said _that_ part in a quiet voice, after Jackson left."

Derek scowled. He was still angry at Danny for thinking he was better than Stiles, but now he was focused on something else; a name that he knew and didn't like hearing. 

"Jackson.... This is the Jackson who's dating Lydia Martin, right?" he asked. He'd heard about this kid from Stiles in the past, and it had never been anything good. Jackson was probably who Stiles had meant when he'd talked about being bullied.

Stiles nodded. "Danny's best friends with him."

"And yet you still asked Danny out?" Derek asked incredulously, brows rising. He'd known that Stiles was lacking in self preservation and any sense, but that was just ridiculous.

"Danny's a lot nicer than Jackson!" Stiles defended vigorously. "I don't even know why they're friends."

"Hm." Derek didn't agree with that assessment, but he supposed he was biased. Sure, Danny had come to their house to try to talk to Stiles, and he'd evidently followed through on his promise to apologize to him at school the following day, but he was still a little jerk who'd crushed Stiles' heart and wasn't going to date him now, even though he knew Stiles had been serious when he'd asked him.

"Danny's an idiot," Derek declared, because Stiles ought to be told so. "You can do better than him." It felt weird to be giving Stiles a pep talk, but Boyd had been right; Derek had spent too long being mean to Stiles when the kid didn't deserve it. 

"I really couldn't," Stiles mumbled, looking at Derek with a strange expression on his face. "Except for Lydia Martin, but she's dating Jackson."

"Which proves that both she and Danny have bad taste," Derek pursued. "What about your friend Heather? She's nice and she likes you and she's getting pretty."

Stiles pulled a face. "We grew up together, Derek," he protested. "We bathed together when we were tiny. I've seen her _naked_."

Derek just stared at Stiles for a moment, speechless. It betrayed how very _young_ Stiles was that he said this as though it was a negative thing. Granted, Derek understood what he'd meant... kind of. But he failed to see how this was a bad thing, and he was really beginning to feel that Stiles wasn't old enough to be dating.

It didn't help that he felt a possessive flare of jealousy every time the subject crossed his mind or reared up in conversation. He was furious at Danny for turning Stiles down _twice_ , even if he'd been more gentle about it the second time, but he was also hugely relieved that the kid had done so. The thought of Stiles holding hands with an attractive boy his own age, maybe being kissed by him, maybe the two of them touching each other with fumbling hands... or not so fumbling on Danny's part....

Well, it kind of made Derek want to _punch Danny in his handsome face_ and then grab Stiles and throw him down on his bed and-- and--

And he _really_ shouldn't be thinking these things when Stiles was actually sitting right there on his mattress, looking delicate and vulnerable. There were still the fading traces of the bruises Derek had put on Stiles' wrists, marring the pale skin there, and Stiles was gnawing on his lips, making them wet and red and slightly swollen, his expression shifting from scornful over the idea of asking Heather out to vaguely concerned. 

Derek wondered what kind of expression was on _his_ face that Stiles was beginning to feel uncomfortable. He didn't want to scare Stiles out of his room, and he definitely didn't want to give away what he was thinking about, so he did his best to smooth his features into a blank, neutral mask.

It seemed to work, somewhat, but Stiles still hunched in on himself.

"Thanks for not yelling at me about Isaac," he said unexpectedly, gazing at Derek with his warm brown eyes. It was a change of subject, but Derek was more than ready to change the subject from Stiles' hypothetical dating and potential sex life.

Derek snorted. "Isaac deserved it. And we all told him so."

Stiles stared, his mouth hanging open. "Whu-what?"

Derek shrugged, feeling a little uncomfortable in the face of Stiles' obvious disbelief.

"You mean Erica told him? And Boyd? And _you_?" Stiles asked incredulously, his voice spiraling higher and higher until it squeaked on the "you", his eyes huge in his angular face.

"Who else would I mean?" Derek asked. He still felt kind of guilty, remembering what Boyd and Erica had said to him. He hadn't thought he'd been so awful to Stiles when they'd been younger... but he probably had been, and he was willing to be better to him now. Especially since, as he'd told Erica, Stiles was tumbling headlong through puberty and was only going to get more and more hyper-sensitive to every little mean thing that he or Erica said to him. Even if they were said in joking.... 

Though, to be painfully honest, it hadn't always been jokingly meant. And speaking of which, Derek wasn't going to let Isaac get away with badmouthing Stiles anymore either. Not at all, but _especially_ not to his face.

Stiles licked his lips, and Derek felt a rolling wave of warmth pass through him, arousal swelling his cock. God dammit. He couldn't kick Stiles out of his room, though. Not when he was actively trying to be nicer and more supportive. Also, he kinda liked sitting here, talking with him. It was... nice.

"Okay," Stiles said doubtfully, but at least he didn't actively call Derek a liar or anything.

"I think Dad was proud of you for nut-punching Isaac," Derek said, trying to steer their conversation away from his own feelings for Stiles and back to Stiles nailing Isaac in the balls.

Stiles smirked, looking delighted. "Yeah, he told me never to do it again with his mouth, but his eyes were saying _way to go, son_."

Derek couldn't disagree; he'd been there, he'd seen the same thing. He and Stiles shared a conspiratorial grin.

"Mom was proud too," Derek offered, even though he was sure Stiles already knew. 

Stiles nodded. "Yeah, she actually told me so."

Derek grinned and shook his head. That was his mother. Their mother. "Of course she did. She said 'that's my boy' when I told her you'd done it," he informed Stiles affectionately.

Stiles wriggled up further onto the bed, folding his legs under himself to sit crosslegged, his eyes brighter now, and his face alert. He was still wearing his school clothes, and Derek badly wanted to strip them off of his skinny little body and roll him around in his sheets... to roll around with him....

"By the way," he said, feeling desperate to keep talking and take his mind off of doing terrible, unforgivable things to his younger stepbrother, "That maybe wasn't the best way you could have sprung the fact that you're bisexual on Mom and Dad."

Stiles blinked, looking taken aback, and this tilted his head to the side. Derek hadn't really meant to mention the matter, but his mouth had run away on him, and now that it was out there he couldn't take it back. 

"I didn't think it was anything that even needed to be said," Stiles replied, speaking slowly and sounding more than a bit confounded. "I mean, it's not like they're upset about it." He squinted at Derek, wrinkling his snub nose in an adorable manner. "Why are _you_ acting like it's a big deal?" he asked a little defensively, seeming ready to pull into himself even more.

"I'm not!" Derek protested, a little more stridently than he'd meant to. He scowled, adding, "I already knew you were bi anyway. You haven't exactly been subtle."

Stiles' mouth fell open again. "What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded.

"Nothing." Derek sighed. He shook his head. "Just forget about it."

Stiles curled into himself, a tight little ball on Derek's bed, and swallowed tightly. "Are... are _you_ upset that I'm bi?" he wanted to know.

"What?" Derek hadn't wanted Stiles to think that at all! He just hadn't wanted Stiles to know that he'd noticed, mainly because he'd _noticed_ due to the way the kid had been staring at him for _years_ now. 

"Why would I be upset?" he wanted to know. 

"I dunno...." Stiles had his arms wrapped around himself and he looked miserable now, instead of happy, and so Derek spoke without thinking.

"Hell, Stiles, one-third of the people I've had sex with have been guys." There was no reason not to tell Stiles, and he definitely didn't want the kid thinking that Derek was some closed-minded bigot. That was the _last_ thing he wanted, in fact. Especially since it was so far from true. 

Derek wasn't open about being bisexual, not really, but it wasn't like it was a big secret that he was closely guarding, either. He didn't tend to talk to anyone in his family about his sexual exploits. He was barely comfortable mentioning the dates he'd had with Paige -- mostly because his Mom made such a big deal about them -- but, yeah, no, he wasn't _about_ to mention the classmates he'd hooked up with casually.

His parents _had_ to guess that he wasn't celibate just because he wasn't in a steady relationship with anyone... but the truth that he'd had random sexual encounters with both guys and girls in a really pretty casual basis was one of those things that was better left unsaid. 

By everyone. 

Not because of the gender, but because of the _sex_. It had been bad enough getting the sex talk twice. Once when he'd been nine, from his Mom -- a talk that had mostly consisted of "this is what your body is going to start doing soon" -- and then far more in-depth and detailed when he'd turned thirteen, from his stepfather. That one hadn't been fun for either of them, but at least it had left Derek with a good sense of what was expected of him.

Derek was always safe, he always made sure his partners knew it wasn't more than it was, and even if it wasn't serious he felt like it was something private. Definitely not something his parents needed to know about! 

But now that Stiles had come out as openly bisexual, Derek felt like it was only the brotherly thing to do, to come out as well. To Stiles, at least. Maybe not their parents.

He'd have thought that Stiles would be pleased to hear that Derek was bi too. He'd have thought that it would have eased Stiles' mind and given the two of them a sort of connection, a sense of solidarity.

But, instead, Stiles looked _more_ upset, rather than less. His face tightened and he was clutching at his upper arms so tightly his fingers were white. It made Derek feel bad just looking at him, even though he hadn't said or done anything wrong.

"Was one of them Isaac?" Stiles asked in a tiny voice, and _what the fuck_?!

"What the fuck?!" Derek blurted, glaring at Stiles. "Seriously? Not that it's any of your business, but no! Just... no!" He shook his head, repelled by the thought. That would be like... like having sex with Erica! Or Boyd! 

"Anyway, I'm pretty sure Isaac is straight," he added, calming slightly in a face of Stiles' obvious distress.

Instead of seeming reassured, Stiles frowned at Derek. "Um, I'm pretty sure he's not." At least he uncoiled from his tense position, relaxing a little and slouching on Derek's mattress, picking at the hem of his jeans instead of clutching at his own upper arms. "He's probably bi too. He gets pretty jealous of you, dude."

"Don't call me dude," Derek corrected automatically. "And I think you mean jealous _over_ me." He pulled a sour face. "Also, you're just wrong."

Stiles shrugged, tongue sneaking out to play over his lower lip. God, the things Derek wanted to do to him, to that tongue, to those lips....

"I'm not naming off a list of the people I've messed around with," Derek said, and somehow the conversation had veered wildly off course on him and was in dangerous waters, yet again. "You're still only in junior high so I don't think you know any of them, anyway. Well, aside from Paige."

"Can we talk about something other than your sex life?" Stiles asked, his voice coming out strangely tight. Derek wondered why it was such a big deal to Stiles. But then he figured....

"Don't worry," he said, trying to offer some reassurance. "Your time will come too, Stiles. You're only thirteen."

He pretty much knew that was the wrong thing to say as the words left his mouth. He'd meant to give his younger stepbrother some comfort, but had managed to put his foot squarely in it.

"Oh, yeah, because I'm practically a baby right now, huh?" Stiles snapped, jumping off Derek's bed in a mad flailing of limbs. Derek was ready to catch Stiles if he pitched headlong toward the floor -- it wouldn't have been the first time -- but Stiles managed to get his legs under him and staggered toward the door like a newborn colt.

"Stiles, you know that's not what I meant," Derek called after him, feeling a sense of deja vu, with Stiles storming out of his room in a snit that Derek didn't feel was justified. "Don't be like that."

"Like a little brat?" Stiles asked snottily, pausing in the open doorway and glowering at Derek.

"You know I didn't mean that," Derek said, trying to sound serious rather than condescending. "I just... don't rush into things, okay? And don't go giving anything away to someone who doesn't deserve it."

Stiles calmed a little, his brow crinkling in a frown. At least he seemed to be giving consideration to Derek's advice. "What?"

"I just don't want you getting hurt," Derek said, marveling that those words were passing his lips. Not only were they horribly cliched, but he hadn't thought he'd ever be so honest and open with Stiles. Because it was true. He really didn't want anyone hurting his stepbrother. 

"You mean...." Stiles tilted his head, and he didn't seem angry anymore, thankfully. "Derek." He laughed a little, and gave Derek a look he chose to interpret as fond, even though it also seemed a bit mocking. "You don't need to worry about these goods," he said, waving a hand at his own body in a way Derek felt was far too dismissive. "I can't even give it away."

"Don't give it away," Derek growled tightly.

Stiles' eyes widened. "I didn't mean-- I just meant that I can't even get anyone to date me," he sputtered. "Not... _that_."

Now Stiles was flushed and Derek felt like a pervert all over again for finding this look incredibly tempting. Especially with Stiles' floppy hair and his red mouth hanging open and his bright eyes staring right at him....

"Just." Derek huffed, feeling helpless. He wanted Stiles for himself but he couldn't have him. He wanted to throw him on the bed and touch him all over and taste and take. He wanted to tell him not to have sex, ever, with anyone who wasn't him. He wanted Stiles to leave his room so that he could jerk off, but he didn't want him to leave mad. 

"Just don't try to grow up too fast, okay?" he came out with, even though it was another trite platitude and it made him wince internally to give voice to it.

"Okay, _Mom_ ," Stiles said sarcastically, still staring at Derek with a curious expression.

Derek sighed.

"All right." Stiles wasn't leaving in a huff anymore, but now he hovered in the doorway, looking awkward. "Well, thanks again for, you know, everything."

Derek nodded. "I'm going to make sure Isaac leaves you alone," he felt the need to add, even though he'd already given Stiles this assurance earlier in their conversation. "Doesn't try to get revenge for getting nut-punched."

Stiles' mouth did something that was a grin and a grimace at the same time; an expression that should have been impossible but wasn't with his mobile features. "He's gonna love that."

"And that's all he's gonna love," Derek said firmly, because no matter what Stiles thought about Isaac and jealousy, he was wrong.

Stiles let out a little huff of laughter. "Whatever you say. And, um, thanks for that too, Derek."

He looked... God, Derek just wanted to eat him up. Toss him on the bed and strip him naked and learn every inch of his growing body. He could hardly say _"save yourself for me"_ when it was so twisted and wrong to want his younger stepbrother so much, but that was what he wanted above all else....

Derek managed to make some sort of a mangled sound of acknowledgement. Stiles gave him a long, sharp look that he was afraid saw too much, but then he smiled softly and gave a little salute before letting himself out. 

Derek thought it wasn't too optimistic of him to count this conversation as a win?

Then he went and locked the door before throwing himself on his bed and jerking it until he came, hard. All the while thinking about Stiles and the way he had looked while sitting crosslegged on Derek's bed.

Even if he couldn't act on his perverted desires, Derek could engage in whatever fantasies he wanted. Right? Just as long as he didn't start mixing fantasies up with reality.

Because that way lay potentially life-ruining disaster.

It just sucked that Stiles was right there, within arm's reach, and Derek couldn't reach for him. Not the way he wanted to, anyhow.

+=+=+

Derek was mowing the lawn. Derek was mowing the lawn and Stiles' life was about to come to an end.

He should have been used to this sort of sight from all the times that Derek wandered around the house shirtless.

But it was _different_ , when Derek was pushing around a lawnmower, his smooth skin coated with a glossy sheen of sweat and flushed with exertion. He was wearing a tank, its thin white material clinging to his chest, his jeans framing his tight ass and powerful thighs as they flexed with every step that he took.

Stiles was well aware that there wasn't really anything sexual about mowing the lawn, but as he peered out the living room window, drinking in every shift of Derek's body, every detail of his face, he couldn't help thinking that this was the closest thing he was going to get to seeing what Derek looked like when he was having sex.

Derek's cheeks were pink with sun and exertion, his eyes were focused on what he was doing, he needed to shave, and his hair was clinging damply to his forehead. Stiles could see that Derek was living up to their agreement and was letting his chest hairs grow back. His forearms were corded with muscle and flexed as his fingers wrapped around the lawnmower handle. He had dark hair on his arms and knuckles that he hadn't ever shaved off. He looked impossibly masculine and grown up. As well as incredibly sexy.

Stiles palmed himself through his own jeans as his eyes drank in the sight of Derek's waistband riding a little low on his hipbones while his tank rode up a little. Those amazing hips that looked as though they had been sculpted out of marble. Out of warm, flesh-colored marble that Stiles wanted so badly to _lick_ that his mouth was literally watering.

As good looking as Danny Mahealani was, he was only fourteen and had _nothing_ on Derek. Who was close to eighteen and so perfect that it made Stiles ache.

It wasn't exactly a good ache. Even if Derek hadn't been Stiles' stepbrother he still would have been off limits. He was four years older, and he was smart, attractive, and popular in school. If their parents hadn't married one another he and Stiles never would have _met_ , much less talked.

And yet Stiles couldn't help feeling as though... Derek kind of _liked_ him now. Really liked him, not just as a forced family member. They'd gone from barely acknowledging one another to Derek defending Stiles against Danny, Isaac, and possibly Erica, since she'd had less mean things to say to Stiles lately. She still snarked at him, but the attacks were less personal and she actually laughed when he snarked back. 

She'd even ruffled his hair once, but he thought they'd both ended up regretting that.

Derek now came to pick Stiles up after school in his car, glaring at Danny and Jackson through the windshield in a way that was both humiliating and hysterical at once. Danny seemed bemused, but also looked a little nervous whenever Derek's eyes were fixed on him. Jackson was totally offended, but he wasn't actually picking on Stiles as much as he'd used to; it had been a while since he'd roughly pushed Stiles against his locker in passing. Lydia just looked speculative. Derek glared at her too, which wasn't fair since she'd never done anything to Stiles, but she wasn't fazed by it, and Stiles though that he'd maybe gained a few cool points, getting a ride in a hot car from his hot older stepbrother, for what it was worth.

And Derek had tried to reassure Stiles that he wasn't a complete loser, that day that they'd talked in his bedroom after Danny had turned Stiles down, while also telling Stiles not to rush into anything, sexually.

That last was patently ridiculous, since Stiles couldn't get anyone to _date_ him, much less kiss him or touch his body in any meaningful way, but it said something about how far their relationship had evolved in the last month or so that Derek actually cared enough to give Stiles this advice.

Stiles wasn't sure _why_ Derek cared, and talking about his nonexistent sex life with the older stepbrother he desperately wanted to hump was hardly his idea of a good time, but he couldn't deny that the conversation had happened, and it made him feel warm inside, in a way that had nothing to do with arousal.

Right now he was _hot all over_ with arousal, and it was because Derek looked so incredibly sexy, mowing the lawn in the bright sunlight. 

Stiles rubbed himself some more, his dick as hard as it was gonna get and leaking in his second-hand boxers.

His hard-on was pressing against this pair of underwear in the same spot where the material had clung to and cradled _Derek's dick_ , Stiles thought, with a wave of arousal so intense that his knees literally went weak and he very nearly came right there. Like, really, it was so close that he whipped his hand away and shuddered for a moment, pressing his hot forehead against the wood of the window sill, gasping for air, his dick twitching and his balls drawn up tight.

After taking a moment to recover, squirming slightly where he stood, so incredibly _grateful_ that both his parents were out, Stiles peeked outside again and mentally calculated. Derek had already done half the lawn, but it was a big lawn. He'd be out there at least another ten to twenty minutes....

And Stiles would be able to get himself off in less than two minutes, if the way he'd almost come in his pants just now was any indication. He could probably get off twice before Derek finished mowing.

With one last longing look at Derek's amazing body and gorgeous face, Stiles turned away and scampered up the stairs. Memory was going to have to do, unless he wanted to jizz in his pants while peering out the window like a creeper.

No, much better to sneak into Derek's room and come on his bed, like a _total_ creeper.

It felt really wrong to walk into his stepbrother's bedroom when Derek wasn't in it, Stiles thought as he did that very thing, but it also felt really exciting. Almost as exciting as the hard-on throbbing in his pants.

Stiles could hear the mower outside, a distant muffled roar coming in through the walls. He was safe as long as its engine was going, and a little bit longer, while Derek emptied the clippings into the recycling bin. Chances were that Derek would head right to the shower once he was done with the lawn, but Stiles needed to be gone by then, because chances were also good that Derek would want to grab a change of clothes out of his room on the way to said shower. 

Speed wouldn't be a problem, Stiles thought feverishly, shedding his jeans and climbing up onto Derek's bed. The covers were thrown back, and Stiles wallowed on the sheets, burying his nose in the pillowcase. It smelled like Derek, like his hair products and his sweat and something else bitter and tangy and almost unpleasant that Stiles thought was probably his jizz.

This thought raced through him and he reached down to grab at his dick through the material of his boxers. Derek's old boxers. They were wet and clinging to his hard-on in a way that was as hot as it was gross.

Stiles whined, mouth open, accidentally tasting Derek's sheets as he hunched inward and came, hard, the heated wetness spreading through his boxers and slicking up his fingers.

Well, that was orgasm number one, he thought dazedly as he slumped and took a few minutes to recover, to wallow in the tingling warmth that filled him, and to breathe in the smell of Derek's bed.

Stiles rested his hot cheek on Derek's pillow, feeling the cool material warm under his face, Derek's scent growing stronger as the case heated up. He let his mind wander, from Derek mowing the lawn -- which he could still faintly hear, thank God -- to Derek jerking it in his own bed, where Stiles was right now. He knew how he _felt_ when he jerked off, and he had an idea of what he looked like, but he wished that he knew what Derek looked like when he masturbated.

His imagination was pretty good, even though Stiles didn't think it was anywhere near what reality would look like, and Stiles indulged himself. Derek would be flushed, his cheekbones and ears all pink, his mouth open. He'd maybe be sweaty, his loose bangs clinging to his temples in dark curls. His forearms would be flexing, his fingers wrapped around his dick the way they'd been wrapped around the lawnmower handle, only more sexily because it would be his _dick_....

Speaking of dicks, Stiles was hard again. He wasn't surprised by this. He was thirteen years old, he'd gotten himself wound up watching Derek mow the lawn, and now he was wallowing on Derek's bed.

He levered himself up onto his elbows, reaching for the drawer in Derek's bedside table. There was no guarantee Derek kept anything sexy in here, but considering that he cleaned his own bedroom and no one else ever came in here, and considering that hiding things under the mattress made it lumpy to sleep on -- as Stiles could attest from personal experience -- it was more than likely that he had _stuff_ in there.

The suspense lasted only as long as it took Stiles to grab the handle and tug.

Yes. Derek did keep his sex supplies in his drawer.

Stiles shifted to sit as close as he could while remaining on Derek's bed. His boxers were sticking to him in a cooling, somewhat uncomfortably mess, but his attention was focused on Derek's drawer and he barely noticed.

There were condoms, which made Stiles pull a sour face because they reminded him that Derek had admitted to having had sex with people. At least the box was almost full, he consoled himself, and tried not to think about the fact that it might have been the second, third, fourth box that Derek had purchased....

But he didn't care about the condoms. What he reached out and picked up was the bottle of lubricant that was closer to the bed than the condoms were.

There was actually more lube, two more bottles, but they were still in the packaging. And the bottle in Stiles' hand was only half full... or he could say half empty, since the thought of Derek emptying it while he masturbated made the hair on Stiles' skin rise in prickles of excitement, a rush of heat flood through him. 

He was leaking in his boxers again, which made them more slimy than sticky, and he thought about taking them off, but then he thought about getting jizz on Derek's sheets, and he decided that was a really bad idea.

For some insane reason, Derek had navy sheets. Okay, so they matched the paint on his walls, and they went really well with his burgundy bedspread, but a dark sheet was just asking for jizz stains. And Derek was a healthy seventeen year old male. Stiles kind of assumed from the presence of the half empty bottle of lube in the bedside table drawer and the industrial size box of tissues hidden behind the lamp on top of the little table, that Derek masturbated.

The sheets were soft and sexy, though, Stiles had to admit. And they smelled like Derek. He was just going to have to be careful while getting himself off on them. Which meant leaving the boxers on, as gross as that was starting to sound.

 _Leave no trace_ , Stiles thought with a little giggle that was only moderately hysterical, as the bottle of lube warmed in his tight, sweaty grasp. His dick was plenty wet; if he was a good younger stepbrother he'd put the lube back and just get himself off without dipping into Derek's private stash....

But Stiles was _not_ a good younger stepbrother. Considering that he was jerking off in Derek's bed to thoughts of how hot his older stepbrother was....

Stiles knew it was wrong, but he had zero intention of stopping. He didn't think he _could_ stop himself.

Getting the cap off, however, almost stopped him. It was screwed on super tightly. Which made sense, Stiles thought as he gave a grunt of frustration and twisted as hard as he could. Derek would hardly want lube leaking all over in his drawer, and it was shallow enough that he had to store the bottle on its side.

Stiles was just about to give up when the cap came loose, and then it was too late to back out. Not that he really wanted to.

It was different than his hand lotion, which, duh. Stiles poured a little in his palm, then set the bottle on top of the table with the cap on loosely. He'd fix it afterward. Dipping his finger in the lube, Stiles marveled over how slippery it was. Yeah, that was the _point_ , but this was in a whole other world than his lotion. How could he go back to that, now that he knew how much more awesome actual lubricant meant for sex was?

And he hadn't even gotten his dick slicked with it yet. He was going to have to rectify that. Immediately. He was on a time limit here, and the last thing he wanted was to get caught in Derek's bed, using Derek's lube to jerk himself off.

The lube was still a little cool when Stiles slid his hand inside his boxers with the skill only a teenage boy could master and palmed himself. Which was a good thing, because otherwise he probably would have come too quickly all over again.

He just held his dick for a bit. It felt good. But the whole point of lubricant was to ease friction, and so Stiles began to stroke himself. Slowly at first, savoring it, but then with more urgency as his pleasure increased.

Stiles didn't last long after that, even though he'd already come pretty recently. Not when he was in Derek's bed, using Derek's lube, the smell of Derek's body wrapped around him and engulfing his senses.

He whined breathlessly as he came a second time, the thumb of his free left hand jammed in his mouth, and now his boxers really _were_ wrecked.

This time when he collapsed he lay there for longer, recovering, feeling as though he was glowing and vibrating. His hand was on his dick, and his other thumb shifted to the way he held it while he slept....

But then he realized that he was far too close to actually drifting off to sleep. And _then_ he realized once he focused on his surroundings that he no longer heard the engine of the lawnmower roaring.

"Shit, shit, shit," he gasped, doing his best to wipe his hands off on his already destroyed boxers as he threw himself off the bed. He screwed the cap on the bottle of lube as well as he could when his fingers were still smeared with drying lube and come. In his mind he envisioned Derek pausing at the fridge of a drink of cold water, but he needed to get the hell out of Derek's room before he got caught.

"Shit!" 

He was pretty sure he hadn't managed to fasten the cap as tightly as Derek had, but it was as tight as he could get it, and he shoved the bottle back in the drawer, then practically ran to the door.

There was no Derek in the hall, so Stiles darted to his own bedroom. He accidentally slammed the door behind him, but he was safe. He was _safe_!

It wasn't until he'd staggered toward his bed, peeling off his soiled boxers, and heard Derek's steps passing his room toward his own that two things occurred to him.

First, he realized that Derek was about to go shower, and Stiles was going to have to wait, covered in drying jizz, for Derek to finish bathing before he took his own turn.

"Shit."

Secondly, he realized with a jolt of horror, that he'd _left his jeans laying on Derek's bedroom floor_!

"Fuck!"

+=+=+

Derek was pretty sure Stiles was jerking off in his bed.

It wasn't just wishful thinking. It wasn't just that one time, when he'd entered his bedroom after mowing the lawn, stinking of perspiration and drenched in sweat, and found a pair of Stiles' jeans crumpled in the middle of his floor.

He'd stared at them a moment, just stunned by the implausibility of what he was seeing, and then he'd proceeded onward to the shower. Because what was he going to do, pick them up? And when he'd come back to his room, clean and refreshed, they'd been gone.

Derek hadn't imagined that he'd seen them, though. And he was sure that when he'd smelled his sheets he'd detected a trace of Stiles' body clinging to the material. He'd checked quickly, suddenly paranoid, but Stiles' teeshirt was still under his mattress where he had hidden it.

Which in itself was a little ridiculous, because after all this time of being in Derek's room it didn't really smell like Stiles anymore. If anything, Derek should have thrown it in the hamper and maybe, if he was still feeling super-pervy, snatched a new shirt, one that Stiles had worn more recently.

But part of the reason he was hanging onto it, Derek thought, was because Stiles still had _his_ shirt. And Derek didn't intend to give Stiles back his teeshirt until Stiles gave him his. And Derek... kind of didn't want Stiles to return his teeshirt to him. He liked to imagine that Stiles was wearing it when he beat off at night, as unlikely as this scenario was.

At any rate. Derek had _seen_ Stiles jeans on his floor before they'd vanished, and he was pretty sure the cap hadn't been as tight on his lube as he usually left it. That alone had given him enough mental images to force him to jerk off more than usual, as often as _that_ was.

But that wasn't why he thought that Stiles was _continuing_ to use his bed and his lube to jerk off. That was more a matter of observation and conjecture.

It was a little hard to tell for sure whether there was actually extra lube vanishing out of the bottle when Derek was still using it himself on a daily basis -- often more than once a day -- but he was pretty damned sure.

And Derek might never make his bed, but he was also pretty sure that his sheets were more of a mess after he came home from hanging out after school than they were before he left in the morning. He was also pretty sure that he wasn't imagining the scent of Stiles all over his pillow, growing stronger the more deeply he buried his nose in it.

It was the best sort of torture, but Derek didn't think it was healthy for Stiles to be sneaking into his bedroom when he wasn't there to use his lube.... He didn't have the heart to begin locking his door, but he couldn't stand for this to continue. Not without wanting to launch himself at Stiles every time he saw him and show him what lube could be used for outside of masturbation.

So as a form of self preservation and because he was _trying_ to be a better older brother, Derek bought Stiles a big bottle of lube for himself. 

Then, because he was still kind of an asshole -- hey, older brother, yeah? -- he left it on Stiles' bed with a fancy rainbow colored bow that he'd gotten at the same drug store he'd bought the lube at taped to the top of the box.

Stiles didn't talk to Derek for two and a half days after that, which made Derek regret his joke... but it was too late to take it back. At least Stiles didn't seem angry...? Just horribly embarrassed. Derek really hoped it was just embarrassment and not humiliation, but he had to admit to himself that the one was just as likely as the other.

Dammit, no matter what Boyd seemed to think, this older brother thing wasn't easy. Boyd didn't know that Derek knew about his sister who'd died in an accident before they'd become friends, but he hadn't counted on the fact that Derek was the stepson of the town sheriff. Derek had never said anything about it because he couldn't _imagine_ bringing it up in casual conversation and Boyd had never mentioned it, but Derek understood why it mattered to Boyd whether or not he was nice to Stiles, even if none of their other friends knew.

And he got it, he did. But it was hard. Derek had been an only child before his mother had remarried. And Stiles had been an only child too, and he'd been even younger than Derek. Neither of them had had _any_ idea how to be siblings.

Derek was pretty sure actual siblings didn't lust after each other the way he was lusting after Stiles. The fact that they weren't actually related made it slightly better, but _better than unforgivable_ still wasn't all that great.

There was a part of Derek that regretted buying the lube for Stiles almost as much as he regretted the bow, because that meant Stiles would no longer be masturbating in his bed.

But Derek was supposed to be the mature one here. He was supposed to be thinking and behaving like an actual older brother. He _wasn't_ supposed to be lusting after his thirteen year old stepbrother in a manner too depraved for words.

Stiles was only using Derek's bed and lube because he didn't have any lube of his own. Derek had gotten him lube, which meant that Stiles could stop using his room to jerk off.

It felt like he'd cut a hollow space in his chest, especially when Stiles was too embarrassed to talk to him afterward, but Derek knew it was for the best, and he intended to do the right thing. No matter what he actually _wanted_.

He still held onto Stiles' teeshirt, though. He wasn't going to give that back until Stiles gave him his. And so far that hadn't happened.

Derek might be failing as an older brother, but he knew fair was fair, and that was that. 

Now, if only he could get over the part where he wanted to grind Stiles into his mattress. Because no matter how he tried, that desire just wasn't going away.


	8. Chapter 8

Stiles was super-excited because there was a long weekend and they were going to take a road trip to visit his grandparents.

Since he was the sheriff Stiles' Dad was almost always busy on holidays, but twice a year he made sure to make the time to spend with his family. One vacation was for the four of them only, but the family took turns every other year going to see each set of grandparents.

This year they were going to see the Hales, Talia's parents, and Stiles was ready to bounce off the walls in the days leading up to the trip. It wasn't until he was in the car, rubbing his eyes blearily in the early morning hours, that he realized two things.

One thing was that he didn't actually like road trips as much as he thought he did. They were always better in memory than reality, but it was hard for Stiles to remember that when he wasn't actually _on_ one. 

In _memory_ , Stiles focused on the cool morning air and the crisp smell of dew on the lawn, the feeling of accomplishment in getting the car all loaded up and climbing inside... and _not_ on the fact that getting up before the sun rose meant dragging himself out of a warm, cozy bed at an ungodly hour.

In _memory_ he fondly recalled the snacks that his Dad would pack in the cooler and in paper bags -- chips and soda and granola bars with chocolate coating on them -- plus stopping in diners for greasy but somehow delicious food, and he'd forget about squirming with the need to pee when they were miles away from a rest stop, forget about _rest stop bathrooms_ , because euw.

His memory offered him the rushing sound of the tires over asphalt, the sight of an ever-changing landscape, and his brain let go of the way his butt went numb and tingly, and how incredibly _boring_ driving for an entire day could be.

So, yeah. Road trips were definitely better in Stiles' memory than in actuality; something he seemed to forget every time until he was _in the car_.

And the second thing Stiles realized... was that he was about to be stuck in the backseat with Derek for close to ten hours.

In the past that hadn't been a huge, insurmountable problem. Derek had ignored Stiles with almost painful intensity, and Stiles really had done his best not to annoy his stepbrother.... Well, he'd known he was annoying Derek, just by being him, but he hadn't been doing so _deliberately_. Derek would put in his earbuds and nap, read, or just stare out the window. And Stiles had had his hand-held to play some games, his own books, his phone with which he'd sent Scott a crazy amount of texts when there was reception....

But things were a little different now. Stiles was achingly aware of Derek's solid bulk on the other side of the bench seat, he could see how insanely hot Derek was out of the corner of his eye, he could _smell_ Derek, all sleep-sweat and warm this early in the morning, with a trace of his deodorant and the coffee he'd been chugging along with their parents even though it meant they'd all need a rest stop that much sooner.

Stiles kind of wanted to die. Partially because Derek was _so sexy_ and so incredibly out of reach, but also because he was still wallowing in abject embarrassment over the bottle of lube Derek had left on his bed.

It _had_ to have been Derek. Stiles was completely certain that it hadn't been his Dad, and while he wouldn't have put the placement of a rainbow ribbon on top past his stepmother, he was just as sure it wasn't her. She wouldn't have been able to keep a straight face if she had done it.

That left Derek, and the fact that he'd bought Stiles lube meant that he _must_ have noticed that Stiles had been dipping into his, and that fact made Stiles' face burn hot with humiliation each and every time it tripped across his brain. Which is did a lot, since he was living with Derek and saw him every day.

Stiles wasn't sure how he managed to _survive_ with the knowledge that Derek knew he'd been using his lube, probably guessed that he'd been jerking off on Derek's bed. The purchase of the lube was kind of a passive-aggressive way of dealing with it, but Stiles definitely preferred it to Derek getting right in his face and telling him to knock it off already.

As embarrassing as the bottle of lube on his bed had been -- and it had been _so_ embarrassing -- Stiles would have died even more if Derek had said something out loud or, God forbid, complained to their parents.

Not that Derek would have done that, right? That probably would have embarrassed him as much as it would have embarrassed Stiles. Right?

Stiles wasn't unaware; he knew he'd overstepped his bounds by jerking off in Derek's bed every chance he got. He'd known what a horrible idea it was each and every time he'd done it. And yet he hadn't been able to stop himself. It had been like an addiction.

Laying on Derek's sheets that smelled of his sweat and spunk, breathing in that scent while he touched himself.... It hadn't been anything like being pinned and held down by Derek, but it had been incredibly arousing. And Stiles hadn't been able to make himself give it up, even though he'd known all along that Derek would figure it out. He'd used the minimum amount of lube possible, and it was obvious that Derek was using it too, but Stiles had _known_ that eventually Derek would realize... and yet he still hadn't been able to keep himself out of Derek's bedroom, out of his bed, out of that tempting bedside table drawer....

Sometimes Stiles did things that he knew were a bad idea because he couldn't help himself, he just felt compelled, and this had definitely been one of those times.

Well, in this situation he could legitimately say that he'd been led by his dick... that was normal for teenage boys, right?

Stiles was _lucky_ that Derek had only bought him his own bottle of lube, and not told their parents, not said anything aloud, hadn't even sent him a nasty text or email. The gift of the lube had been a little passive-aggressive and Stiles was embarrassed beyond belief, but he was also incredibly grateful for Derek's tactful silence.

But it _had_ meant days of feeling awkward around Derek afterward. Stiles felt as though his skin had been stripped off, and he didn't know if he could ever behave normally around his stepbrother ever again.

At least Derek hadn't seemed too upset that Stiles had been unable to speak to him or look him in the eye for days. He probably expected it, all things considered. Maybe he'd been too embarrassed by Stiles' bad judgment and intrusiveness to want to look at or talk to Stiles either.

Their Mom just thought they were fighting again. She'd given Stiles a lecture, quiet and kind but a lecture nonetheless, and he was sure Derek had gotten one from her as well. Stiles had tried to assure her that he wasn't mad at Derek, but he couldn't manage that very well when he couldn't explain just why he was behaving as though his stepbrother was invisible.

It kind of sucked, because they'd actually been getting along for a while there, but it had been Stiles' own damned fault. He'd been the one who'd snuck into Derek's room and jerked off on Derek's bed, with Derek's own lube, _more than once_. God, he should just have been glad that he'd managed to snag his jeans while Derek had been showering that first time he'd done it, called that good, and never gone back into Derek's room unless Derek invited him.

Instead he'd lost control and potentially ruined everything and now Derek probably never _would_ invite Stiles into his room again. 

So dumb! Why hadn't Stiles been able to stop himself from doing something so stupid?!

To his credit, Derek actually smiled at Stiles as they buckled up. Stiles should have smiled back, accepting it as an olive branch and offering his own in return, but all he found himself doing was staring at Derek with his mouth hanging open.

Well, it wasn't his fault! Derek's hair was flat and soft-looking without product, his eyes were heavy-lidded with sleepiness, his cheeks were pink in the car's interior light, with pillow creases still denting his nearer cheek -- because Derek had packed the night before and all he'd had to do was roll out of bed and drink some coffee -- and he just looked so sleepy and warm that Stiles wanted to curl up against his chest and breathe him in.

It didn't help that Derek was wearing a burgundy sweater to combat the morning cold that made him look cuddly at the same time that it stretched over his muscles, and his jeans were faded and worn soft over his powerful thighs. He couldn't have looked more sexy if he'd been trying.

Stiles knew he looked like a mess himself. His hair was standing out at crazy angles and he couldn't stop yawning and his hoodie was crumpled in a way that looked slobby, not sexy. Not that Stiles would ever, _could_ ever look as sexy as Derek. That was just impossible.

Derek's smile faded, but he didn't look upset or anything.... He reached over and palmed the back of Stiles' head, just for a moment, and he said, "Sorry," so softly that Stiles barely heard, more like read the word on his lips.

He wasn't sure how to respond to that, so he was actually more relieved than anything else when Derek put his earbuds in and faced forward.

Stiles knew _he_ ought to be the one apologizing. The bow on the lube had kind of been a dick move, but the purchase itself and the fact that Derek wasn't screaming at Stiles to stay out of his room and leave his stuff alone was far more than Stiles deserved.

He blushed painfully and wrapped his arms around his stomach. Then their parents were climbing in the car after making a final check that the house was locked up, and the entire family was ready to be on its way.

"Do you have your pillow?" Talia asked, twisting to look in the back as Dad started the engine. This was the third time she'd asked, but in her defense, the first two times the answer had been "no" and Stiles couldn't sleep without it, so.

"Right here," Stiles said, lifting it in demonstration.

"Then we're ready to go," Dad said, after setting his coffee in its travel mug safely in the drink holder. "Next stop, Hale house."

Stiles snickered, because that coffee was a sure guarantee that the next stop would actually be the first or second rest area outside Beacon Hills, but he didn't say so aloud. 

Instead, he propped his pillow between his head and the window and leaned as far from Derek as he could get. Not because he wanted to get away from his stepbrother, but because he wanted too much to lean _into_ Derek. And that way lay disaster.

Stiles wasn't sure how to deal with a Derek who wasn't mad at him for jerking off in his bed, who bought him lube, and who smiled at him so sweetly this early in the morning. Instead of attempting to deal with it he closed his eyes and let the sound and the sensation of the car all around him lull him to sleep. It was ass o'clock in the morning after all, and most sane people were still in bed.

He'd try to be nicer to Derek, Stiles decided as he drifted off. Sure, he was still hideously embarrassed, but Derek had been nothing but nice to him when Stiles hadn't really deserved it.

Also, it would make for one hell of an awful trip if Stiles continued to try to act as though Derek didn't exist. He knew this from past experience, because that was how Derek had treated him the last several years.

They were actually getting along now, and that made both their parents happy, and Stiles was happy, and he thought that Derek was happy... he shouldn't let his forbidden desire for his stepbrother taint that and ruin their vacation.

He was still embarrassed about the lube, but if he was honest it wasn't the most humiliating thing to happen to him in his life, and if he was _painfully_ honest it probably wouldn't be the most humiliating thing that would happen to him in the future. Also, Derek had clearly meant well. 

Stiles just needed to try to get over Derek. And maybe this trip would help him to do that.

+=+=+

Derek's Mom was a loving older sister herself, but sometimes she got _so_ irritated with Uncle Peter that it was amusing to watch.

"That little creep," she ranted to the sheriff as the family sat in a booth in a diner and had lunch. Stiles was slurping on a milkshake, mangling the straw between his teeth, watching the show with bright eyes, and Derek tried to focus more on the silly faces Stiles was making than the way his cheeks hollowed and his lips were red and tempting as he sucked hard to get anything through the wrecked straw.

"Maybe he didn't know we'd be visiting the same time," Dad said, but to his credit he didn't sound as though he believed it either. He knew his brother-in-law too well for that.

"Oh, he knew," Mom growled, stabbing at her fries with a fork. Who ate fries with a fork? Derek's mother, ladies and gentlemen. True, they were steak-cut, but still. Derek was glad he hadn't really inherited some of his Mom's stranger eating habits.

"I keep him in the loop," she continued, glaring at the phone she was holding in her free hand. "He knew we were coming this weekend, and he says he wanted to see the boys, which, _fine_. It's been a while. But _he's_ the bachelor. _He_ should be the one offering to stay in a hotel instead of setting up camp in the house before we even get there!"

Derek understood why his Mom was upset, but he couldn't be bothered to worry about it himself. The Hale house wasn't small, but it only had two guest rooms. That was perfect when they were visiting; their parents took one room and he and Stiles shared the other, which had twin beds. They only slept there, spent the rest of the time interacting with the parents and grandparents, so they'd never had any trouble sharing the space, even though they hadn't always been getting along every time they'd visited in the past.

Now that Peter was camped out in one of the guest rooms, however, that left the Hales with only the other guest room available. And Derek loved his family, but he was really hoping that his Mom wouldn't be stubborn about it and make him sleep on the floor. 

They'd had to do that one year and Dad had stepped on Derek while making a midnight bathroom run. It had _hurt_. He'd was glad it hadn't been Stiles -- who'd been tiny and seemed very fragile at the time and might have actually been damaged rather than just bruised -- but Derek hadn't enjoyed the experience and didn't want to repeat it.

"We'll just get a couple of hotel rooms," Dad was saying smoothly, not feeding into his wife's rage but at the same time being careful not to sound _too_ conciliatory, because that would piss her off even more. By this time he knew how to handle Talia, and Derek respected him for that. Heck, it was more than Derek himself sometimes managed, and she'd been his mother for longer than she and the Sheriff had been married.

"Ooh, can we stay at a hotel that has a pool?" Stiles asked, eyes wide and shining. His lips were cherry-red from the cold of his milkshake and the pressure they'd been exerting on the straw, and his cheeks were pink. There was a smear of the milkshake on the corner of his mouth, looking like something infinitely more perverted than a tasty, frosty beverage.

Derek allowed himself a moment, maybe five moments, to just stare and appreciate the picture his younger stepbrother made.

Stiles was wearing a plain teeshirt, his bulky hoodie discarded in the noon warmth, and the material stretched over the bones of his shoulders in a way that made Derek realize that he must be going through a growth spurt. In fact, Derek _thought_ that the shirt might be one of his old ones. That was made more likely by the fact that it was a worn grey, no goofy slogan on the front. It was killing Derek that Mom was giving Stiles his cast-offs. He wasn't even going to allow himself to think about Stiles wearing his old boxers, even though he knew it had happened in the past and might well still be happening.

Stiles' hair was an absolute disaster. Derek had taken him to get it trimmed and styled, it wasn't buzzed, but Stiles didn't know how to take care of it properly. Or maybe he just didn't care because he was on a road trip with family. Either way, Derek made a mental note to tell the stylist next time to just cut it in a way that required minimal attention.

It looked good, though, which was the crazy thing. Possibly because the mess of soft brown on top of Stiles' head, falling in uneven clumps over his brow, made him look as though he'd just rolled out of bed, made him look as though someone had been running their fingers through it....

Of course Derek's mind would go and supply someone else's fingers rather than Stiles' own. Of course!

Traitorous mind.

In addition to the pink cheeks and red lips and shining brown eyes, Stiles just seemed to be in a better mood today than he had been lately, and it was a definite improvement. Derek hoped this meant that he was getting over his embarrassment. If he could go back and do things over, Derek probably wouldn't have gotten Stiles the lube, probably could have just started locking his bedroom door when he wasn't in there, but it was too late now and he was just happy that it looked as though there might be a return to normal interactions between them.

The new version of normal, that was. A _better_ normal. Where they actually talked and interacted and behaved as though they were brothers instead of two strangers who were mildly annoyed at being forced to live in the same space.

Stiles glanced over at Derek, his thick lashes fluttering, and a warm flush washed over his face, his cheeks going a little blotchy. It was actually incredibly cute, Derek thought. Before, he'd always thought it made Stiles look even more awkward, and maybe it did, but he'd grown to like it, along with other things about Stiles that he'd either never noticed or not really cared about before.

Like the way he couldn't ever sit still. That had been irritating in the past, occasionally infuriating. But Derek kind of liked it now. It gave him an awareness of where Stiles was, at all times. It drew his eye.

The oral fixation was something that was more of a torment than a pleasure, but it could definitely be both.... Derek just wished he could allow himself to enjoy the way everything went into Stiles' mouth, the way his red lips caressed pen caps and bottle necks and straws.... Even though nail biting was a nasty habit, seeing Stiles with his fingers in his mouth led to all kinds of filthy thoughts.

Derek offered Stiles a quick smile that he hoped didn't look too manic and averted his gaze before his staring could cross the line into creepy. It was a little late for that, but....

"We won't be doing anything there but sleeping," Dad was telling Stiles while Mom angrily texted Uncle Peter, a little frown line between her brows. "And you didn't bring any swimming gear."

"I could swim in a pair of shorts," Stiles pursued, unable or unwilling to give up the idea now that it had been planted in his head. Derek took the opportunity to watch him a little more, now that he was focused on their father. "I could get up real early to swim."

Dad snorted. "I'd like to see that happen. And, no, Stiles. You're not getting up early to swim alone because what if something happened?"

"Derek could go swimming with me," Stiles protested, shooting Derek a glance out the corner of his eye.

Derek just raised his brows. He'd be more peeved about being volunteered if he'd thought Stiles had any chance in hell of winning this argument.

"You will let Derek sleep in if he wants to," Dad said, bless his heart. "And you will not be swimming in your shorts. And we probably won't be getting a hotel with a pool anyway."

"Most hotels have pools," Stiles mumbled, slumping sulkily in his seat and playing with his straw where it was standing sad and dented in his melting milkshake. Derek tried not to stare at his long, thin fingers. Stiles' hands were large and getting larger, one of the most elegant things about him when he was all flailing limbs and unfettered energy.

Derek could envision those fingers coated in his lube, wrapping around Stiles' hard cock. And that way lay madness and possibly the need for therapy someday. Derek definitely shouldn't be thinking such thoughts while sitting next to his Mom in a diner on a family vacation.

"Well, Peter's going to be a little prick," Talia declared, shoving her phone in her pocket and scowling. "So a hotel it is. Though it would serve him right if he had to share the bed with both of us."

"No!" Dad blurted, looking far more alarmed by this thought than Derek thought was warranted. Then again, he wouldn't want to have to share a bed with Peter. He liked his uncle okay, but there was something that seemed kind of sleazy about him sometimes. And Derek would swear that Uncle Peter subtly felt him up every time he hugged him hello and goodbye, despite the fact that they were _actually related_ , his mother being Peter's older sister.

At least Derek wasn't actually related to Stiles. Not that this made the times that he'd touched him at all okay. Not the wrists or the chest or the upper lip....

"I was kidding," Mom said, rolling her eyes, while Stiles snickered and Derek smirked. "You don't actually think I'd willingly get into bed with my brother, do you? Or let him anywhere near _you_? Besides, it's only a queen. Even if it was a king, three adults would _not_ fit."

Dad looked relieved, and Derek wondered if he wasn't the only one who felt skeeved out by Uncle Peter.

Their server brought over the bill, and pretty soon they were on their way. Derek wasn't thrilled that they'd be staying in a hotel, but he'd make do. Stiff, rough sheets laundered in bleach were no match for the soft, cottony, detergent-scented bedclothes in his grandparent's house. And they might get to sleep in a little more than otherwise, but that also meant maybe missing out on a delicious home-cooked breakfast if they didn't get to the Hale house early enough. 

"Pool!" 

Of course, Stiles' mind was fixated on the one thing to the exclusion of everything else. That was what Stiles did. Strange how Derek was now finding it more endearing than annoying, as he had found it in times past. He was filled with a powerful swelling of affection toward his stepbrother, and he liked to think he would have been even if he hadn't wanted to touch Stiles in inappropriate ways.

"We'll see," Dad said, which was essentially father-speak for "no", but at least it got Stiles to settle down a little.

That didn't make the rest of the trip a breeze, but Derek and Stiles started playing word games against each other on their phones and when they lost reception, Stiles gave Derek his hand-held and he commandeered Derek's book. Derek didn't think Stiles was going to like it, but he didn't give it back, and Derek beat Stiles' current high score, so he considered the strange trade Stiles had initiated to be a win-win.

All in all it was a quiet drive, especially for the Stilinski-Hale family, and Derek was grateful that Stiles was no longer ignoring him out of embarrassment, humiliation, or whatever the cause.

He just hoped that the rest of this trip went as well.

+=+=+

Dad didn't choose a hotel with a pool, which disappointed Stiles but didn't surprise him. He mourned the fact that he wasn't going to get to go swimming, but he knew that there would be plenty to do; Grams and Papa Hale always made sure of that.

It wasn't until time to go into their rooms that disaster struck.

Stiles, for some reason, had been expecting the same set-up they had at his grandparents' house, but evidently a single was cheaper than a double, and his father was a cheap bastard at heart. Then again, he hadn't been factoring a hotel stay into the trip budget when they'd set out.

"Since you boys have been getting along so well lately I thought that you wouldn't mind sharing a bed," Talia said, and maybe it had been her decision rather than Dad's.

Derek looked trapped. Stiles was torn between being thrilled and feeling terrified. He knew what a horrible, bad, awful idea it was to sleep in the same bed as Derek, and yet the very idea of it excited him beyond words. He already had a thing for seeing Derek right after he woke, and he obviously had a thing for Derek's bed, since he'd been masturbating in it until Derek couldn't help but notice. And yet, Stiles was at the stage of puberty where wet dreams were a regular occurrence, plus he had it on good authority from Scott that he tended to be a restless sleeper who invaded any bedmate's personal space without hesitation. 

Also, as Scott had informed him and as he knew from waking up wrapped around his best friend, Stiles cuddled in his sleep.

This couldn't end anything but badly.

Mom looked so hopeful, though, that neither of them had the heart to inform her how wrong she was. Derek mumbled something, schooling his features into blankness even though he was still a little pale, and Stiles plastered a grin on that he hoped didn't look too fake.

"We'll be fine," he said, since Derek seemed mostly speechless. Derek took the card-key from his Mom, and he and Stiles grabbed their overnight bags and schlepped into the hotel room they would be sharing for three nights.

It was just three nights. They could do this, Stiles thought as he dumped his case next to the dresser and grabbed the television remote before Derek could claim it. Not that Derek seemed to care or even notice. He was standing there inside the door, staring at the one bed with a troubled look on his face. 

And, dammit, no one who looked that traumatized should be able to look that gorgeous, Stiles thought resentfully as he flipped on the television and started channel surfing. They'd be going to the Hale house for dinner, but Mom had declared she needed a nap first, which really meant that Dad needed a nap after driving for so long. He'd been getting cranky and snappish, and Stiles knew that it would be a good idea for both of their parents to be rested before facing Uncle Peter.

Stiles himself was filled with energy after being stuck in a car for almost nine hours. It was too bad the hotel _didn't_ have a pool, he thought ruefully, collapsing on the edge of the bed, his legs jiggling. He could have used a swim. As it was, he had the better part of four hours to do essentially nothing except watch tee vee.

Sucked!

"I'm gonna... I'm gonna go shower," Derek said, walking into the bathroom like a zombie. Stiles was just glad that he hadn't needed to pee, because Derek hadn't given him a chance. Though, if he _had_ had to, it wouldn't be the first time Derek had locked him out of the bathroom.

Stiles fidgeted as he listened to the water start up. He had no attention for what was on the tee vee, instead finding his imagination firing into gear and supplying him with a vivid mental picture of what Derek looked like right now.

Naked. All his skin on display. Water streaming down his smooth muscles, darkening the hair on his chest, arms, and legs. Maybe Derek was hard. Maybe he was touching himself, right now.

About the only part of Derek that Stiles had never seen was his dick. Even though they lived in the same house and even though Derek loved to walk around half-clothed, Stiles has never caught even a glimpse Derek's junk. Hell, he'd -- accidentally, regrettably, horrifyingly -- seen his Dad's penis. That was something he wished he could excise from his mind. Derek's dick, on the other hand....

Stiles palmed himself through his jeans, then shook his head and kicked off his shoes. It would be a bad idea to get a hard-on while sharing a small hotel room with Derek, and a worse idea to try to jerk off before Derek finished showering. The smell alone would give him away in this enclosed space, even if Stiles' pale cheeks didn't do the job with the red blotches they got when he worked out or came.

Well, speaking of smells, the smell of Stiles' feet went a long way toward killing his boner.

"Euw, yuck."

Stiles wrinkled his nose and pulled off his socks, balling them up and throwing them in the corner. Maybe Derek had the right idea, showering. Stiles wasn't the most fastidious kid, he could admit. But he felt sticky and sweaty after riding in the car all day, and a bath sounded good.

He entertained the briefest of moments of insanity where he contemplated getting in the shower _with_ Derek. But even if Derek hadn't locked the bathroom door, Stiles would have found himself knocked flat on his skinny, naked ass if he'd tried, so he let that thought slide away with only a little bit of regret.

Hey, he might not have much of a sense of self preservation, but he had _that_ much, all right?

Stiles was going to have to rethink that internal assessment though, he realized when Derek emerged from the bathroom in a wave of hot, soapy-smelling steam, a thin, white hotel towel wrapped around his waist. Because before Stiles could pause to consider, as Derek walked toward his discarded luggage, Stiles reached out and snatched the towel away.

He couldn't for the life of him say what had possessed him, but Stiles often found himself doing things without any real reason.

Unfortunately, this time it just might mean the _end_ of his life.

+=+=+

"Don't kill me!" Stiles squeaked, dropping the towel and squirming backward on the bed with a terrified look on his face.

Derek was... too stunned for a moment to really process what had just happened. A part of his brain knew that he was standing here naked, his junk on full display, and that Stiles was responsible, and a part of his brain recognized that Stiles was panicking on the bed, but the greater part of his brain was just. Well. Stunned.

He blinked, feeling slow and stupid, but _Stiles had just stolen his towel and left him standing here naked_.

Stiles was babbling something, but Derek wasn't really paying attention. He was just glad that he'd gotten himself off in the shower, because otherwise he might well have been getting hard, knowing that he was standing here on full display for the younger stepbrother he'd been lusting after for way too long now.

A logical, rational part of his brain was telling him that he ought to get moving. Grab the towel again and cover himself or put on some clothes. Preferably both. That was the only responsible thing to do. And yet the rest of him... well, kind of _preened_ under the intent attention Stiles was paying his bared body.

Evidently Stiles had run out of words and realized that Derek wasn't actually making any move to kill him. Now he was sitting on the bed that they were supposed to share, his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide, fixed unabashedly on Derek's cock.

"You're... you're not circumcised," Stiles blurted, licking his lips, his cheeks pink. He glanced up at Derek and flushed more darkly, but then his eyes returned to Derek's cock as though he couldn't tear them away for long.

"I'm not," Derek replied, trying to sound matter-of-fact about it. He wasn't sure how he should be responding, aside from being the mature one here, and so he kept everything as low-key as he could manage.

Well, he knew that he _should_ be putting on clothes. He shouldn't be standing here, damp and warm from the shower, his cock on full display. He shouldn't be letting Stiles stare at his cock. And his cock _definitely_ shouldn't be plumping and twitching slightly with renewed interest, despite his recent self-induced orgasm.

"I... I didn't know," Stiles murmured, scooting back toward the edge of the bed, never taking his eyes off of Derek's junk. "Wow. Can... can I touch it?"

Derek blinked, taken aback by the boldness of this request, even though he maybe shouldn't have been. This was Stiles, after all. Stiles tended to just say whatever came into his head the moment that it did, without forethought or second thoughts. Which meant that this was really what he wanted.

One piece of Derek's anatomy was interested in Stiles' question, that was for sure. Derek did what a lot of nearly-eighteen year old guys did, and let his penis lead him as he sat on the bed next to Stiles.

The bedspread was scratchy under his bare ass, and Derek had a moment of regret. Which he probably should have felt over the idea of letting his thirteen year old, sexually flexible, almost certainly virginal stepbrother touch his penis.... 

But it was like he was functioning in a haze -- a haze of lust -- and he couldn't seem to make himself move away as Stiles scooted closer. Well, it was a little too late to change his mind now, without being a total asshole and something of a literal cocktease.

Stiles' pink tongue was flickering over his red lips, his eyes darting up to Derek's face and back down as he reached for Derek's cock with a hand that trembled a little; so faintly that Derek could barely tell, but it proved that Stiles wasn't as confident about this as he might be acting.

Stiles' knee pressed against the outside of Derek's thigh and he leaned in, long fingers wrapping around the shaft of Derek's cock without any real hesitation.

Derek was as stunned by the reality of Stiles holding his cock as he had been by the fact that the kid had stolen his towel, but that latter had been an actual surprise. Stiles had _asked_ Derek if he could touch him, and Derek had... well, he hadn't said yes, but he'd come within range and essentially offered himself up for his stepbrother, so it was pretty much the same thing.

Stiles' hand was warm, not cold like Derek had half anticipated, and he held Derek's cock with a gentleness that was unexpected. Derek couldn't help it, had no control, as his cock began to swell in Stiles' grip.

"It won't be much different than yours once it's hard," he said, his voice coming out hoarse. He swallowed, knowing that speaking aloud meant he was complicit in this... whatever it was. But then, if he hadn't wanted it to happen he could have told Stiles "no" in no uncertain terms and put on some pants. Probably should have, but it was too late now.

Stiles didn't seem to be listening to Derek anyway. His fingers flexed around Derek's growing hard-on, his hand not moving, just holding on loosely. His eyes were turned down, staring at his handful, lashes thick and winging against hot cheeks. His mouth was hanging open, as it so often did.

And as it so often did, the sight of Stiles' mouth hanging open went straight to Derek's libido. His lips were red and puffy, moist with saliva because he'd been licking them, and the inside of his mouth was darker, wetter, just begging for Derek to put something in there....

Stiles glanced up at Derek, caught him staring at his mouth, and he closed it, seeming embarrassed. 

But then he was licking his lips again. His tongue ran along the swell of his lower lip, and Derek had to raise his gaze to the ceiling in an effort to avoid getting completely hard in Stiles' hand. 

It was a popcorn ceiling and there was a nasty water stain in the corner nearest the bathroom, he noted absently, but to be honest most of his attention was focused on the sensation of Stiles' hand wrapped his cock, squeezing it lightly, and then moving....

Derek drew in a sharp breath as Stiles pulled back his foreskin then slid it forward again, kind of inadvertently jerking him off, agonizingly slowly, teasingly. Or maybe it wasn't so inadvertent.

None of this made sense. Why was Derek letting Stiles do this? Why had Stiles asked to do this? His insatiable curiosity couldn't be the only reason. Stiles might not have the best handle on societal norms, but even he had to be aware that people didn't go around asking their older stepbrothers if they could touch their uncut cocks.

"This is so _cool_ ," Stiles breathed, and Derek's skin prickled with the feeling of Stiles' body heat as he leaned in closer. He wouldn't have thought he could feel anything other than the fumbling manipulation of his cock, but his entire body was focused on where Stiles was and what he was doing, not just on the movement of his fingers.

"I wish I wasn't circumcised," Stiles murmured, and when his thumb pressed against the head of Derek's cock through the sheath of his foreskin, Derek felt something inside him break.

"This isn't fair," he said, lowering his eyes to glare at Stiles.

"What?" Stiles' eyes snapped to Derek's face, round and panicked, his mouth open again, his cheeks flaming with what Derek could only assume to be arousal. It couldn't be shame because Stiles clearly had no shame.

And here was the part where Derek threw caution to the wind. He'd held off so long, been so good. He'd tried to be a responsible older brother no matter what twisted desires he'd been feeling, but Stiles had snapped this fragile control with his lean fingers curling around Derek's cock, touching him with tentative boldness; another inherent contradiction that Stiles somehow made possible.

"You should be naked too," Derek declared firmly, reaching for Stiles and meaning the words with every cell in his body.

+=+=+

Stiles squawked and let go of Derek's dick, instinctively flinging himself away from Derek's grabby hands.

It wasn't that he didn't agree, or that he didn't want Derek to get a hold of him. Derek wanting to strip him naked was pretty much a dream come true, literally and figuratively. But on the other hand, despite the fact that Derek had let Stiles touch his dick, Stiles had no idea what was going on in his stepbrother's head.

Also, being naked meant being exposed. And maybe Derek had been naked first, but Stiles wasn't sure he was comfortable with the idea of it where he himself was concerned.

All of this was moot, though, because if Derek wanted Stiles naked, he was going to become naked in very short order. There was a brief tousle that bounced the mattress up and down, but Derek was bigger and stronger than Stiles and even though Stiles was often faster, Derek had him on his back on their hotel bed. 

Stiles very nearly kneed Derek in the face, totally by accident, but to be honest he didn't really put up much of a fight, and within a couple of minutes he was just as bare-assed as Derek was.

Which might have been embarrassing if he hadn't found himself flat on his back with Derek straddling him, almost exactly like that one night in the living room, except this time they were both _naked_ and Derek's dick was hard, and his hands were wrapped far more gently around Stiles' wrists as he pinned his arms down to either side of his head than they had been that first time.

It might make him a perv, but Stiles kind of wished that Derek was holding him more tightly. At least he didn't feel like the lack of bruising was due to a lack of passion. Not when Derek was leaning over him, breathing heavily, his dick jumping between his thighs. His hard-on wasn't touching Stiles but it _was_ standing up proud and thick right above Stiles' soft belly. It wasn't touching Stiles because it was too hard and that almost as good as feeling it rubbing against his bare stomach might have been. Possibly better.

"If you wanted me to stop touching your dick, you could've just said," Stiles warbled, his chest heaving like Derek's was, though far less impressively. He was pleased by his ability to utter words at all. With the sexy stepbrother he'd been fantasizing about in the exact same position he had been fantasizing about, when both of them were _naked_ , he was surprised he could even breathe, much less form an articulate sentence.

Stiles had never thought he'd actually end up here. It kind of sucked that it was on a shitty hotel bed that who knew how many people had slept on, instead of being on Derek's bed, or even Stiles' bed, but it was so much more than Stiles had ever expected.

He didn't know why this was happening, but he was totally willing to go with it.

Derek let out a rumbling sound that wasn't quite a groan, and bent his head downward. For a crazy moment Stiles thought that he was about to get kissed... but then Derek was dipping down so that his face was right beside Stiles' neck, and he was breathing in.

Stiles went still, somehow afraid that he would spoil the moment, even though he wasn't clear on the meaning _behind_ the moment. He was pretty sure that Derek couldn't want him, right? And yet here they were, and Derek was straddling him, and Derek was hard, and it would be nearly impossible to interpret this any way other than sexually....

Stiles was hard too, duh, and he was pretty sure that if Derek rubbed his ass back against his dick he'd be coming all over said perfect ass. Especially since Derek was _naked_ right now, so it was a bare ass.

This was so much like those fraught moments on the living room floor, and yet nothing like them. Stiles and Derek were both completely undressed. They weren't fighting over a remote control this time. And Stiles could still feel the phantom warmth of Derek's throbbing dick lingering in his palm, tingling in his fingers.

He hoped he'd get another chance to touch Derek's uncut penis in the future. He wasn't sure, though, because he had no idea what was even happening so he couldn't form any kind of a guess as to what would follow.

"Derek, what--" he managed to get out, his voice sounding throttled.

"Hush," Derek admonished, turning his face further into Stiles' neck, nuzzling his throat. His stubble was prickly and his cheekbone was hard but covered in soft skin. Then his lips were even softer where they pressed over Stiles' pulse point in what felt like an open-mouthed kiss.

Stiles sucked in a deep breath, shocked beyond his ability to process, because there was nothing ambiguous about this caress. It might not be an actual kiss, but it wasn't far from it. In fact, it felt even _more_ sexual because Derek's lips were parted.

Pleasure shivered over the entire surface of Stiles' skin, and his dick was leaking, he could feel it sliding down his shaft in a way that tickled and made him want to rub it on something.

Then he was letting out a sound that he had no control over as Derek's tongue slid up the side of his throat, because that felt amazing, that felt like nothing Stiles had ever experienced before, that felt like he was about to come just from being _licked_. It was hot and soft and made his dick jerk, his balls drawing up even tighter.

"Oh my God," he gasped, thrashing involuntarily underneath Derek. He was going to come ridiculously fast like this, and he wasn't sure if he should warn Derek or let it wash over him.

Derek's mouth closed around his earlobe, applying a light sucking pressure, and Stiles shouted, his hips jerking upward. He'd have thought that it would feel weird or even silly, but instead it was like having a wire straight down to his dick, hooking in and tugging hard.

"Sorry," Derek pulled away to murmur, but the next thing he did was run the flat of his tongue along the whorls of Stiles' ear, and it was only worrying about whether he'd used Qtips recently enough that it didn't taste gross, like wax, that kept Stiles from shooting off right then and there.

He writhed under Derek, jerking involuntarily at the hands ringing his wrists, and equally involuntarily Derek's hands clenched, holding on much tighter.

This had Stiles tugging at Derek's grip, not fighting to get out of it, just testing it, but after a moment Derek responded by loosening his fingers, which was the _opposite_ of what Stiles wanted, and he raised himself up a little off of Stiles to blurt out, "Sorry," again, more earnestly.

"No, I--" Stiles bit at his lips, but he had to confess it because Derek was in very real danger of letting go of him completely. "No, I like it," he choked out, feeling his flush all along the back of his neck and up to the tips of his ears. "A lot."

Derek got a speculative gleam in his eyes, and he squeezed tightly enough that Stiles could feel the bones of his wrist grind together. There was a bloom of pressure and pain, but it was a _good_ pain. Stiles knew that he was going to bruise, and he _liked_ it.

"Yeah," he gasped out, without meaning to, his back arching with pleasure, his mouth falling open as his eyes flickered closed. 

"You like that?" Derek murmured, voice low and rough, and Stiles knew it was a rhetorical question because it was obvious how much he liked it, so he didn't even try to answer. He didn't think he could form words anyway, with Derek pinning him down, hovering over him hard and hot, all that bared flesh on display, his heavy breathing matching Stiles' own, and his fingers wrapped so tightly around Stiles' wrists.

"Yeah, you like that," Derek answered himself, smirking down at Stiles. His cheeks were pink and his hair was still wet and he looked so sexy that Stiles felt like he could go insane just from looking at him.

Stiles had no _idea_ why someone so sexy would be interested in pinning him down and doing naughty things to his willing body, but he wasn't about to reject this impossible, impossibly hot scenario.

Derek dipped his head and ran his tongue along Stiles' collarbone. Stiles shivered, his attention torn between the hot wetness that cooled in tingles behind the caress, the feeling of Derek's hands locked around his wrists, and the radiating heat of Derek's body over top of his.

"Derek," he whined, wiggling around, legs kicking up, heels digging into the mattress. He wanted Derek to lower his body, to lay over top of him, to press his body into the bed the same way his hands were pressing down Stiles' wrists. "Derek, come on."

"What do you want, Stiles?" Derek asked wickedly, rearing up again so that the only place they were connected was his hands around Stiles' wrists. "Use your words."

"Fuck you," Stiles blurted, frustrated beyond belief, jerking at his arms. Part of him wanted to pull away and shove Derek off of him, grab his own dick and strip out his pending orgasm with a couple of quick strokes, but the greater part of him was just reveling in Derek's hard grip and the way his own movements would probably bring even more bruises to the surface.

"Are you sure that's what you want?" Derek asked, still smirking at Stiles, and he looked so grown-up and so hot that Stiles had a moment of cognitive dissonance. Stiles was supposed to be fooling around with girls his age, who barely even had boobs yet, or boys his age, who might be bigger than him, might even need to shave regularly, but who didn't look the way Derek looked.

Derek was almost a legal adult. He'd be headed to college soon. And he looked it. He had stubble and muscles and hair on his chest. He looked like gay porn. No, gay porn could only _dream_ about starring someone as attractive as Derek.

"Ha-ha, you're so funny," Stiles managed to get out, because Derek might look like sex incarnate, but he was still Stiles' older stepbrother, and Stiles was still Stiles. 

Derek huffed out a little laugh and hung his head. His hands tightened momentarily around Stiles' wrists, riding the border between just painful enough and too painful, sharp and sparking, and Stiles whined, but it wasn't in protest. He was pretty sure Derek was staring at Stiles' hard-on, or maybe he was staring at his own hard-on, or maybe he was looking at both, where they were standing up proud in the annoying amount of space between their two bodies.

"Will you get down here," Stiles demanded, and he tried to make it come out sounding commanding and compelling, but it was probably more whiny than anything else. Dammit.

Derek didn't seem to mind, though. He raised his gaze back to Stiles, his pale eyes heated and intent, his expression unreadable but not blank, and then the next thing Stiles knew, Derek had lowered his body down over his and they were touching from mid-chest to groin.

"Yeah," he groaned, arching again, but this time he was restricted in his movement by the bulk of Derek's body. It felt amazing, most especially the pressure on his dick. He could feel his hard-on throbbing, trapped between them, sliding alongside Derek's equally hard, larger erection.

Which, Derek was _hard_. He was as hard as Stiles was, just from holding him down and licking him a little. Stiles hadn't even had a chance to touch Derek yet, aside from when he'd handled his dick a little earlier.

"Derek," Stiles pleaded, not even sure what he was asking for, and he brought his legs up to wrap around Derek's hips as best he could.

This time when he tugged at his wrists, Derek let go. Derek moved his hands to cup Stiles' bony shoulders, and Stiles found himself slinging his arms around Derek's neck before he even realized he'd meant to move. 

Speaking of moving, Derek wasn't. He remained where he was, propped on his elbows but most of his weight resting on Stiles. That was putting pressure on Stiles' dick, but he was getting no friction, and that was _maddening_. Stiles felt like he was going to explode. He felt filled with heat, like he was too big inside his skin, like he was boiling away inside himself.

It wasn't a bad feeling, really, but it made him want to scream, and he _definitely_ wanted Derek to move. He wanted Derek to grind him into the mattress and make him come. At this point, Stiles was pretty sure it would only take one thrust of Derek's hips.

Which, maybe that was _why_ Derek wasn't moving. It made sense, but it still sucked.

"Derek," Stiles started, and he was definitely whining now, but before he could say anything else, Derek's mouth was pressing against his own.

It was Stiles' first time being kissed. The crush of lips against his, Derek's soft and plush as they'd always looked, was nice, but Stiles wasn't sure what all the fuss over kissing was about....

That was, until Derek's tongue slid out to lick over the seam of his lips, Stiles' mouth fell open in a gasp, and the next thing he knew Derek's tongue was _inside_ his mouth, hot and sleek and invasive. And okay, this, _this_ was what all the fuss over kissing was about!

Stiles did his best to give as good as he got, but he was far from an expert. He was pretty sure Derek was a pro at this, but the thought of Derek kissing lots of different people to gain his skill made Stiles burn with jealousy, and that wasn't a good feeling, so he banished that thought quickly.

Stiles had no experience and no finesse, and so he did what came to him instinctively when something was in his mouth and started sucking.

At pretty much the same moment he started doing it, he thought that it might be a really bad idea and not sexy at all. But the throttled sound that Derek made and the way his hands tightened on Stiles' shoulders and his hips jolted into Stiles' seemed to indicate that Derek, at least, liked it.

Which made it a little counterintuitive when Derek dragged his mouth away and lifted his head. From the way he was dragging in deep breaths, his chest heaving over top of Stiles' chest, Stiles thought he could understand it.

Derek was staring down at him, eyes wild and expression both intense and yet somehow vague, as if he was lost inside his own head or something. His attention seemed focused on Stiles, though, and his gaze flared with something even more heated when Stiles automatically licked his lips.

They felt bruised and friction-burned, and he could taste Derek on them, which was a really weird experience that Stiles felt he could get used to. They were probably pretty red, he thought absently, allowing them to hang open even as Derek dipped to kiss him again, but he was pretty sure Derek liked that. Not least of all because, dude, Derek was kissing him again. That seemed to indicate that he'd liked what he'd seen.

Stiles got so distracted by the way Derek was kissing him, by the thrust and slide of Derek's tongue inside his mouth and against his own, by the way Derek let him into his own mouth when Stiles hesitantly gave that a try, that he forgot that Derek was resting over top of him without moving.

His lips were getting numb and his chin was feeling kind of scratched up from Derek's stubble before Derek finally pulled away again.

They were both breathing hard, and Stiles took a moment to collect himself as Derek lowered his head to rest his face against Stiles' neck, just pressing his lips there, not licking or kissing.

He was clinging to Derek with both his arms and his legs, and Derek's hands were hard and steady on his shoulders, fingers flexing a little. Not bruising, probably, but he was holding Stiles firmly enough that he _knew_ he was being held.

Derek's hips _were_ moving, but not vigorously. He was pulsing them very faintly where he was locked between Stiles' thighs, pressed up close to Stiles' pelvis. Derek was heavy, very heavy -- of course he was, because he was _all muscle_ \-- but at least he was propping himself up on his elbows so that Stiles could breathe.

Stiles dug his fingers into Derek's upper back, raising his chin and tilting his head to one side, giving Derek more room. A part of him wanted Derek to suck a bruise into his pulse point there, but even though his better judgment was hazed with arousal, Stiles knew that his stepbrother giving him a hickey were everyone could see would be a _really awful_ idea.

Derek nuzzled his way up and into the hollow beneath Stiles' jaw and under his ear, and that was evidently a hugely erogenous zone, because Stiles shivered and let out a little sound of surprise and pleasure, his dick jumping between them and blurting precome. 

He sank his nails into Derek's back. Luckily for Derek, Stiles didn't really _have_ nails. But he responded in kind, his fingers tightening on Stiles' shoulders. He shifted between Stiles' thighs, giving a couple of vigorous thrusts, and even though he didn't have a lot of room to maneuver, the sensation of his firm stomach muscles under smooth skin, slicked with Stiles' pre-ejaculate, and the crinkling brush of his pubes rubbing against Stiles' aching dick was enough to spark a reaction and send him over the edge.

Stiles would have liked to say that he let out a sexy sound when he came, but it was really more like a startled squawk. He quaked inside Derek's embrace, shuddering through it, his muscles locking as he shot off all over Derek's stomach, his head thumping into the mattress, eyes squeezed so tightly closed that he saw red stars behind his lids.

He didn't even have a moment to be embarrassed about popping off so quickly -- it felt like they'd made out forever, but coming after just some making out had to set some kind of record of sadness -- before Derek was grunting out, "Oh, shit," like the words had been punched out of him and he hunched into Stiles and came all over both of them in turn.

Stiles shivered at the flood of hot jizz that broke over his still-hard dick and his abdomen, it felt good even though he'd already climaxed, and then he groaned as Derek collapsed on him.

"Oh my God," he gasped, arms and legs falling limp, "What do you weigh, like, three hundred pounds?"

Derek's face was buried in his shoulder and there was a hot gust of breath as he snorted, even though he was still breathing as though he had just run a marathon. "Figures," he grumbled into Stiles' skin, making him shiver again at the sensation. "You don't shut up even after you get off."

"Well, not the first time, duh," Stiles said, squirming. "No, really, get off me. You weigh a ton, you asshole. And we're gonna get glued together."

"Not that quickly," Derek sighed, but he rolled off of Stiles, lounging on his side, one hand pressed to Stiles' quick-beating heart. 

This time Stiles shivered because the jizz he was covered in started cooling immediately. He couldn't stop staring at Derek, though, drinking in the sight of him.

Derek was flushed and his temples were lightly dewed with sweat. His hair as still damp from the shower and his lips were dark pink and plumped from all the kissing they'd been doing. He looked a million times better than he had when he'd been mowing the lawn; Stiles had been _so_ wrong about that being close to Derek's sex look. His stomach muscles were tight even though he looked relaxed after having come. His dick was still partially erect, its head red and shiny with jizz, half-covered now by his foreskin. Stiles wanted.... Oh, God, he wanted that in his mouth, _now_.

He was pretty sure Derek wasn't going to say no, because what man in his right mind would turn down a blowjob? But the moment he sat up, Derek was sitting up as well.

"We should go shower," Derek said, reaching out and touching the streaks of their mingled come on Stiles' stomach with a look of wonder and fascination. Stiles couldn't believe anything about him could bring that expression to his older stepbrother's face, but there it was.

"You _just_ finished showering," Stiles pointed out. He didn't really want to move, but if he had to he wanted to jump on Derek and get off a second time, because it wasn't going to take him long to get hard again... especially not with Derek touching him with confident, bold fingers the way he was.

"Not with you in there with me," Derek said, smirking at him.

Stiles' eyes went wide. There was a part of him that found it hard to believe that _Derek was inviting him to shower with him_ , but mostly he was just ready to go, to get in the shower, and get off again at the same time he got clean.

He rubbed the disgusting mess on his belly, then licked at his fingers contemplatively. He didn't think it was his imagination that it tasted different, his own jizz mixed in with Derek's.

Derek's eyes blazed again, his nostrils flaring, and he was off the bed in a shot, dragging Stiles with him.

"Whoa!" Stiles squeaked, his feet fumbling to move effectively as Derek hauled him into the bathroom. His hand was tight around Stiles' upper arm, though probably not tightly enough to bruise. "Careful with the goods!"

Derek stopped just inside the bathroom door and turned while still pulling on Stiles, so that he almost slammed into Derek's chest. Stiles squeaked again, because why be dignified and masculine? It wasn't like he was a scrawny thirteen year old covered in drying jizz who was sporting a hopeful semi at the idea of bathing with his hot older stepbrother or anything, right?

"You liked it earlier," Derek murmured, letting go of Stiles' arm in order to grab one of his wrists. He didn't squeeze it, which Stiles was actually somewhat relieved by, instead raising it to his face and nosing lightly at the thin skin right over his pulse point. Stiles could feel the bruises throbbing right under the skin, ready to bloom, and he flushed with mingled embarrassment and pleasure over how much he _liked_ it.

Just as Derek had pointed out.

"Well." There really wasn't anything he could say to that, and Derek smirked at him, his eyes heavy lidded and heated. Stiles wasn't the only one who was half hard.

"Um." Stiles felt like he should say something, be smooth, but words failed him in the face of Derek's supreme sexiness. "I wanna put your dick in my mouth," he blurted before he could stop himself.

It was the right thing to say, evidently, if the way Derek's face went slack with shock and then tightened into a hungry expression was any indication. 

"We, uh," Derek cleared his throat, his fingers flexing on Stiles' forearm. "We could do that."

Stiles was all ready to go to his knees right there on the faded, stained linoleum of the hotel bathroom floor, but evidently Derek didn't mean _right now_ , since he let go of Stiles' wrist and turned on the water in the shower stall.

Probably a good idea, Stiles thought, eyeing the floor distastefully. It looked clean, but it also looked like it had had innumerable feet stamping over it for years. Since this place was hardly new, there surely had been.

The bathroom was disproportionately large, at least in Stiles' opinion, but that was good because it meant the toilet had a corner all its own. There was only a shower stall, no bathtub, which also didn't bother him. Stiles knew his stepmother liked to soak at home, but he was a shower man himself. Also, he didn't like the idea of laying naked in a bathtub that strangers had been naked in.

He wasn't going to think about the fact that he'd just been wallowing naked on a well-used bedspread. One that probably wasn't laundered regularly, the way the sheets were. He was about to bathe anyway.

"Come on," Derek directed, holding open the shower stall door and beckoning for Stiles.

Stiles licked his lips and did as directed. He almost expected Derek to close the door behind him and shut him in there alone, because sharing a shower with him seemed too good to be true, but he didn't. Well, Derek was covered with jizz the same as Stiles was, so it only made sense for him to wash off, even if the fact of him jizzing on Stiles didn't make any sense.

"Hey." Derek crowded Stiles up against the wall before he'd done any but the most cursory job of sluicing off. The tiles were still cool, even though the water was warm, and Stiles squeaked again, jolting toward Derek. Which had the benefit of pressing him against Derek's body.

"Hey," he replied inanely, even though he sort of wanted to shove Derek out of the way so that he could wash properly. Derek might be naked and sexy as hell, but Stiles was covered in both their jizz and it was kinda gross. 

Stiles' hands were spread over Derek's chest, and he lowered his gaze to where his fingers traced over hard muscle, dark curls, and tawny nipples.

"See?" he murmured, licking his lips as he let himself rub at those nipples, making them draw up tight and causing Derek to suck in a sharp breath. "I told you it was a good idea to grow your chest hair out."

"You like it?" Derek asked, which was a stupid question, but it wasn't as if he gave Stiles a chance to answer it because in the next moment he had Stiles wrapped up in a warm embrace and he slanted his mouth over Stiles' in another deep, wet, consuming kiss.

"Hngh," was Stiles' ever so intelligent answer once Derek finally let him go.

"Come on."

Derek manipulated Stiles around so that he was directly under the water again, and Stiles reveled in the heated warmth cascading down on him as much as he did the solid bulk of Derek's body standing right behind him. 

Derek reached for something and Stiles was kind of dazed and sex-stupid, so he just stood there and let Derek begin to wash him. What was he gonna do; tell Derek to stop? 

Derek was using his own soap, Stiles could smell it as he rubbed his large, powerful hands all over Stiles' body. And didn't that get Stiles' dick standing to attention, as though he hadn't just come five minutes ago. They both ignored it, at least for now. Stiles wasn't the only one, at least. He could feel Derek's hard-on nudging at his lower back like it wanted his attention, and he was still hoping to get his mouth on it. 

Right now, though, he was focused on enjoying the heat of the water and the smooth, steady, soothing way Derek was touching him as he lathered him up all over.

"Here," Derek instructed, turning Stiles manually again, so that he could wash his front. There was no way Stiles was imagining the fact that Derek lingered at his nipples, thumbs brushing over them while the rest of his fingers slid around Stiles' ribcage under his arms. 

"They're so pink," Derek said, his voice low and deeper than Stiles was used to hearing it. He was staring down at Stiles' chest in fascination, and Stiles blushed hard.

"Sorry," he said. His nipples were standing out hard now, despite the heat of the water, responding to Derek's touch. 

"Don't be sorry," Derek said, raising his thick brows at Stiles under the sodden fringe of his bangs. "They look amazing."

"They look like a girl's nipples," Stiles retorted, pulling a face.

"Maybe a little," Derek shrugged, which made Stiles wince a little because owch, Derek didn't need to _agree_. "But you're definitely not a girl."

Stiles probably had some smart comeback to that, but Derek freed one of his hands to reach down and grip Stiles' hard dick and he was rendered immediately dumb, and also kinda stupid.

"Oh." It broke out of him in a soft exhalation of surprise and pleasure, rather than one of understanding or agreement. Derek licked his lips, still thumbing at one of Stiles' nipples, his other hand not moving, just cradling Stiles' erection. Stiles really kind of wanted to kiss Derek again, but now that they were standing face to face in the shower instead of rolling around on the bed that seemed like an almost impossible boldness.

Even though Derek was standing here _holding Stiles' erection_.

"Dammit, Stiles," Derek growled, and Stiles wasn't sure what he'd done wrong. He hadn't said any of that out loud. Even though he sometimes spoke when he shouldn't have, he was never unaware of having done so. He hadn't moved to kiss Derek. It was Derek who had his hands on Stiles right now....

Then Derek had spun him around _again_ , moving with him this time, so that he had Stiles pressed against the wall. He'd let go of Stiles' hard-on, which kind of sucked, but he propped himself right there in Stiles' space and his mouth descended to rub all over Stiles, wet and hot and open, teasing Stiles' mouth open in turn.

They made out for a while like that, but Stiles had an end game in mind that didn't involve getting pruney or falling and braining himself in a hotel shower stall.

"Can I put your dick in my mouth now?" he asked breathlessly, once Derek laid off kissing him for a bit so that they could breathe. Their faces were so close that Stiles wasn't sure they were actually getting oxygen rather than one another's carbon dioxide, but then Derek let out a low rattling groan and let his head thunk into the wall next to Stiles' head.

"You're gonna kill me," Derek rasped, and Stiles dared to reach up and caress his chest again, tweaking his nipples then tugging lightly at the curls. Derek's chest hair was softer than Stiles' pubes, which surprised him a little, but not really, and he wanted to touch it when it was dry, really badly. He also wanted to touch Derek's pubes. Maybe if he ever got to suck his dick, he'd have the chance!

"Can't I kill you with my mouth on your--"

Stiles didn't get to finish his admittedly snarky question because Derek slammed their lips together again, his tongue stabbing into Stiles' mouth as though he was fucking it.

Thank God, Derek didn't spend long kissing him this time. The next thing Stiles knew Derek had shut off the water and they were outside the shower stall. Derek grabbed a towel and began to rub Stiles down briskly and efficiently.

"Oh my God! Dude. I can dry myself," Stiles protested. "I _am_ a big boy, you know."

Derek froze, staring at him with his mouth hanging open, his bunny teeth gleaming white between pressure-bruised lips, and Stiles was afraid he'd completely blown the whole mood by reminding Derek that he was a reedy thirteen year old virgin.

Well, maybe not technically a virgin anymore. But he was definitely lacking in experience, considering that all he'd gotten to do yet had been a little making out and some frottage. 

But then Derek reached down and grabbed Stiles' dick again -- which was still hard and eager because standing here wet and uncertain didn't seem to have had any negative effect on Stiles' libido -- and said, "Not such a little boy," with a wicked crook to his lips.

Stiles smirked back, feeling his hard-on pulse where Derek was holding it. He was proud of the size of his dick, he had to admit. He wasn't on the same level as Derek, who was seventeen and wore boxer-briefs and he might never be, but Stiles was pretty well endowed for his age.

"Here." Derek dumped the damp towel on Stiles' head and grabbed another to use on his own body. Stiles was still amused that Derek had gone from the shower to covered in jizz to showering again, but he had no regrets about his part in making that happen. 

He was still kind of lost in disbelief over the fact that Derek hadn't ripped him a new one for pulling away his towel.... But it had gotten him underneath Derek, it had gotten Derek's tongue in his mouth, and hopefully it would get him Derek's _dick_ in his mouth next. So it might have been an insane move, but it had been a good one.

Stiles scrubbed at his hair with the towel, then dumped it on the floor. 

"Come on," he urged, grabbing at Derek's upper arm and tugging him out of the bathroom. "Come on, come on, come on!"

"God, hold onto your balls, I'm coming," Derek grouched, allowing Stiles to drag him over to the bed the same way he'd dragged Stiles to the bathroom before. Of course, he was humoring Stiles, and Stiles hadn't been able to stop Derek from hauling him around. But that made it even more awesome, right? That Derek was going where Stiles wanted _because_ he wanted.

Stiles had at least three perverted comebacks to that, but Derek was throwing back the covers on the bed to expose the sheets -- still kind of gross to think about rolling around on naked but much cleaner than the bedspread -- and Stiles eyes were caught and held by his older stepbrother's amazing hind view.

"Nice," he breathed, and he hadn't meant to say that out loud, but what was wrong with appreciating Derek's... assets? Hah. Ass.

Derek turned and rolled his eyes, but he was sort of smiling, a little, and his cheeks were pink with what Stiles chose to read as pleasure.

"On the bed," Derek demanded, and since that was where he wanted to be, Stiles clambered up onto the mattress.

"You too." The words hadn't even finished leaving his lips before Derek was joining him, and Stiles flung himself between Derek's legs before he could change his mind.

"Careful," Derek choked out, and Stiles froze while reaching for his hard-on.

"I know how to handle a dick," he informed his older stepbrother tartly. "I've got plenty of experience with my own, you know!"

Derek snorted, but he relaxed back against the headboard, propped up on both the hotel pillows. Stiles' personal pillow was still in the car; he'd have to fetch it before bedtime. 

Derek's thighs were stretched wide around Stiles, and his erection hadn't flagged in the slightest. 

"Of course, this is a different angle," Stiles admitted, leaning in close and licking his lips. Mostly it was instinctive, but he wasn't unaware of the way it affected Derek, wasn't at all startled by the low sound that Derek let out or the way his dick twitched even before Stiles reached for it.

And then Stiles had it in his hand, and it was glorious. He'd already had a chance to explore it, but as far as he was concerned he would never get his fill. Also, Derek had thrown him on his back on the bed before he'd gotten a chance to taste it before.

"Good thing I have a big mouth," he said as he clasped it tightly in his hand. The shaft was hard and hot, covered in soft skin, just like his own. But this wasn't his own dick; it was Derek's.

"God damn it, Stiles," Derek gritted out through his teeth. Stiles could see him clenching his hands in the bedsheets to either side of his hips, and the muscles of his legs were tight.

Without thinking, Stiles turned his head and pressed his lips to the inside of Derek's thigh. The skin there was soft and hot too, tender even though it was covering hard muscles, and he had a dusting of dark hairs. Stiles attention was mostly focused on the erection throbbing in his hand, but he took a moment to rub his cheek against Derek's inner thigh.

"Stiles," Derek said, his voice small and shaky, and Stiles figured he was probably being a tease or something. He was a little sketchy on what foreplay consisted of; usually the guys went straight to the vital points in the porn that Stiles had seen. He'd liked that, though. Taking pleasure in a part of Derek that was attractive to him but not his penis, and hopefully giving Derek pleasure at the same time.

"Okay," he said, as much to himself as to Derek, and scooted closer, dipping down and licking the slit at the head of Derek's stiff erection.

"Shit." Derek's stomach muscles tightened, his hard-on jumping in Stiles' grip, his legs drawing up a little more, all of this seemingly dragged out of him involuntarily.

A thick bead of precome oozed out of the tip of Derek's dick, more opaque than Stiles' was. He licked it up before he thought, wondering if it tasted different too. 

"You're gonna kill me here," Derek ground out, his head falling back, his expression creased in what looked like pain. Stiles kind of thought Derek was exaggerating, but he didn't want to be an asshole, so he opened his mouth as wide as he could and let the blunt head of Derek's dick slide over his tongue.

His first thought was that he'd been right; he _liked_ having his mouth filled like this. His second thought was about how _weird_ it was to have something so hot and fleshy in his mouth. Something so powerful and yet so delicate. Something that could bring someone else even more pleasure than Stiles was taking from it.

His third thought was that this was a lot tighter fit than his thumb or even two or three of his own fingers, but that was kind of a given. He hadn't been kidding when he'd said it was a good thing his mouth was so large.

Derek was fresh out of the shower, so aside from the flavor of his precome, his dick really only tasted like clean flesh. Stiles liked that, though he did wonder what it would taste like straight out of Derek's boxer-briefs after a day at school.... Gross or awesome, he suspected. Maybe even a little bit of both!

But he wasn't unhappy with what he had in his mouth now. God, not even a little bit. 

Stiles had thought that maybe it would be intimidating, having another guy's dick in his mouth. Like he'd be giving up control, like his mouth would belong to someone else.

But he hadn't thought about the fact that he had control of someone else's most prized body part, very close to his teeth. And suddenly he was more worried about accidentally hurting Derek than being taken control of himself in any way. 

He could feel Derek's fingers sinking into his hair as he closed his eyes and did his best to suck on the hard shaft in his mouth. He trusted Derek not to choke him, and so he concentrated on giving Derek as much pleasure as he could.

Before he'd gotten Derek's erection in his mouth Stiles had been focused on his own curiosity. He'd thought about what it might feel like, what it might taste like. But now that it was in there, he only wanted to do what he could to make Derek feel good.

He could hear Derek letting out guttural sounds overhead, and true to the faith Stiles had placed in him, Derek's fingers only flexed on his skull, restless and clutching, but _not_ dragging Stiles down deeper onto his dick.

Stiles _wanted_ to take Derek's erection in deeper, but he knew he couldn't. He was already drooling all down the shaft, because as much as he tried to keep the suction going it was a really thick piece of flesh to have in his mouth. He took it far enough that he almost gagged, his eyes watering, and there was still so much he hadn't fit in. He fisted the shaft below his stretched out lips, the slobber making it easier to move his hand smoothly, and tried to suck _harder_.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck," Derek was chanting, his hips rocking uselessly on the mattress, both his hands sunk into Stiles' hair now, still just holding on, not forcing him to anything. It was hard to tell with the sloppy mess in his mouth, but Stiles thought that Derek's dick was leaking more copiously on his tongue.

Experimentally, he let up on sucking a little -- partially because his jaw was starting to hurt -- and curled the flat of his tongue under the head of Derek's dick, moving like he was swallowing, even though he certainly hadn't managed to take it anywhere near down his throat.

"Oh, _God_ , Stiles, I'm gonna come," Derek choked out, leaning forward, almost bent in half around where Stiles was nursing at his throbbing erection.

He probably meant it as a warning, but Stiles was in the moment and he allowed it to goad him on. Instead of pulling off, he renewed his suction, working his mouth around Derek's dick in every way he could manage at once. He fisted the rest of the shaft with one hand, and with the other he reached and carefully but firmly cupped and massaged Derek's tightly drawn-up balls.

He barely had time to take note of how hairy but smooth-skinned they were, and then Derek was spilling on his tongue with a throttled shout.

Stiles wasn't proud to say that he choked a little, the come more copious than he'd expected when his mouth was full of hard dick. At least none of it came out his nose.

He coughed, pulling off, trying to play it cool. He'd swallowed some, didn't know why people made a big deal about it, even if the flavor wasn't his favorite, and the rest was running down his chin and the shaft of Derek's dick.

Stiles rubbed at his jaw with the back of his wrist, watching with fascination as Derek's hard-on jerked and the slit flared, some more jizz spurting out, though less vigorously than the shots that has hit his tongue.

"Whoa," he breathed, licking his lips. He was still holding onto the lower half of Derek's dick with one hand, trying to clean his face with the other, and Derek's erection was jumping in his grip like a living creature even though Derek was pretty much spent. " _Awesome_."

Derek uttered something that was probably meant to be words, but which wasn't intelligible, as he collapsed back against the pillows and headboard again.

"You're welcome," Stiles said, grinning up at his wrecked stepbrother. Someday Stiles hoped to get a blowjob; it looked like it was pretty amazing. Right now, though, he didn't think Derek was really up to reciprocity. Not that Stiles expected that Derek would suck his dick. But thinking about having it done, on general terms, was nice.

Bringing Derek to climax with his mouth had gotten Stiles pretty worked up, and now that most of his attention wasn't on what his mouth was doing, he realized that he was completely erect himself, and aching to come a second time.

Jizz didn't make good lube, Stiles already knew from experience, but he had that and his own saliva all over his hand, and he knew he'd be coming within a couple of beats anyway, and so he wrapped his fingers around his dick and gave it a few good tugs.

"Stiles, wait," Derek said, as he evidently recovered enough to be coherent, but it was too late now, and the sound of his voice, hoarse and sexed out, was enough to have Stiles coming.

He bowed over, hunching up much the same as Derek had done, his forehead thunking against Derek's stripped hipbone, as he whined and spilled on the mattress between them.

"Damn it, you didn't even give me a chance," Derek grumbled, reaching down and closing his hand over Stiles' where he was still clutching his dick. It felt good. Derek's fingers were strong and confident and his palm was warm. "And you came all over the bed we have to sleep on."

"Sorry," Stiles panted out, smiling, his eyes still closed. He felt no shame, floating in the warm wonder of his afterglow, but.... 

Well, yeah, he was probably gonna regret jizzing on the mattress tonight. Oops.


	9. Chapter 9

Derek woke from an impromptu nap he hadn't meant to take -- after he and Stiles had gotten each other off three times apiece and then collapsed in exhaustion -- to find he was sprawled naked on the crappy hotel sheets with Stiles' head on his thigh, curious fingers toying with his foreskin where his limp cock was resting, sated and smeared with dried come.

"That wasn't a blanket permission to touch it, you know," he slurred, shifting restlessly. Now that he was awake, the physical sensations of Stiles' hand on his cock again combined with the visual had him getting hard.... Not very hard, though; he was still pretty worn out from all the coming he'd already done.

"Shut up, you know you like it," Stiles mumbled, almost all of his attention focused on Derek's cock, one corner of his mouth crooking up in a small smile. It looked ridiculously sexy and adorable at the same time. Derek had the desire to kiss his upturned nose and then maybe to suck on his lush red lips.

"Fuck you," Derek yawned, giving a shivering stretch. He felt good. Loose, relaxed, warm. His cock was pulsing where Stiles was messing with it, but he ignored that for a moment and just enjoyed the comfortable warmth of the bed and Stiles' body heat.

"Are you sure that's what you want?" Stiles asked, mimicking Derek's words from earlier in the day, grinning up at him. He didn't raise his head, his hair a wild nest, his eyes heavy-lidded and hungry. 

Before Derek could decide how to reply, Stiles was pulling his foreskin down and leaning in to take the sensitive head of Derek's cock into his mouth. Again.

That was the end of his lazy lassitude. Derek's cock immediately hardened, and he shuddered in renewed pleasure.

"Aw," Stiles bemoaned as he pulled off, much to Derek's mingled relief and distress. Mostly distress, though. "I wanted to suck it while it was soft."

God bless Stiles and his never-ending oral fixation, Derek thought foggily, reaching up and scrubbing a hand over his face in an attempt to regain control, to prevent himself from grabbing Stiles' head and demanding he get back to what he'd been doing. That was just bad manners; especially after Stiles had given him such an amazing blowjob a short time ago.

"If you want it soft again, you're gonna have to make me come," he informed Stiles.

"I can do that," Stiles replied in all seriousness, and Derek was suddenly that much harder.

Dammit, Stiles better never figure out that he could lead Derek around by his cock. It wasn't that Derek didn't trust his younger stepbrother, but... well, no, he really didn't trust Stiles not to misuse that power.

After they'd gotten off the first time and then showered together Stiles had blown Derek and finished by jerking himself off. Derek had felt as though he owed Stiles after that last. Big time. Stiles was a virgin -- had been, anyway -- and Derek was the one with experience. He should have been the one bringing Stiles to orgasm, instead of simply allowing Stiles to blow him, coming in his mouth, and then melting into a useless puddle so that Stiles had to get himself off.

So he'd fiercely cuddled Stiles into the bed, kissed him until their lips and tongues were tingling, then he'd tucked Stiles into the curve of his body and given him the best reach-around he could manage.

It hadn't felt right. Derek had felt as though he should have offered to blow Stiles in turn. But he'd never given head before and he'd been afraid he'd suck at it. No pun intended.

Of course it occurred to him after the fact that Stiles hadn't known what he'd been doing either, and it had been amazing, had been worlds better than the one other blowjob Derek had gotten. But Stiles was a natural at sucking on things, and he'd seemed to appreciate the reach-around....

Derek had rutted against Stiles' tight little ass, the skin soft and oh-so-hot at the center of his cleft, and had spilled his third load between Stiles' thighs. Somehow that had felt even more intimate and perverted than coming in his mouth had felt, and had left Derek feeling even more smugly satisfied.

Then, sated, they'd both drifted off and fallen asleep, Derek's arms tightly wrapped around Stiles' smaller body.

And now they were both awake again and Stiles wanted to suck Derek's cock a second time. Derek should probably be the responsible one here and say "no"... but he found he was incapable of turning down the offer. 

Hey, if Stiles actually _wanted_ to suck on Derek's cock....

This time, though, he wasn't going to shoot off in Stiles' mouth and render himself useless. He wasn't sure what he was going to end up doing, but it would involve _some_ fair exchange, somehow. And not just a lame hand-job. Stiles gave himself hand-jobs daily, after all.

"I love your dick," Stiles murmured, snuggling down against Derek's thigh again, his lashes lower as he gazed warmly at Derek's junk, long, lean fingers smoothing up and down the shaft, tongue pressed to his lower lip in anticipating.

Derek could clearly recall what Stiles had looked like when he'd been blowing him earlier. His eyes closed and his cheeks hollowed, those amazing lips stretched wide around the shaft of Derek's cock, red with the pressure and friction, his face flushed and lashes starred with tears. It had been even better than Derek had imagined, and he was ready to see it again, even though it made him feel selfish to just lay back and let Stiles suck him.

Then something suddenly occurred to Derek, even though he really _was_ focused on his cock and what Sties intended to do to it.

"Hold on," he blurted, coming up off the bed in a cold rush. "What time is it?"

"Crap." Stiles sat up as well, his eyes round. There was a little streak of dried jizz along the sharp edge of his jaw and his chin was reddened with what Derek assumed was stubble burn. With his hair having dried in a mad tangle that fell over his forehead and the light bruising ringing his wrists, he couldn't have looked _more_ debauched.

Derek fumbled for his phone, which was still in his jeans' pocket on the floor, forgetting that the hotel had a clock on the small table beside the bed until Stiles announced behind him;

"We have about fifteen more minutes."

Derek did some mental calculations. They could both get off in that time, true, but then they'd be headed to their grandparents' house looking as though they'd just fucked.

"Dammit."

"What?" Stiles pouted at him. "That's totally enough time for me to suck you off."

Derek groaned and shook his head. "No, Stiles, it's not. I don't want you to just blow me real quick. I want to return the favor and take my time with you, take you apart. Not to mention we both _look_ like we've been fucking and we reek of sweat and jizz. We need to shower, get ready to go, and that's gonna take the full fifteen minutes even _if_ we share the shower."

Stiles' mouth was hanging wide open, his cheeks burning hot, and he was hard.

"If you're trying to convince my boner to go away, you're doing a shitty job," he informed Derek, licking at his red lips, his brown eyes burning.

Derek paused to consider.

"Let's shower together," he said, moving to unpack a change of clothes. "We can get off, quick, then get ready to go."

Stiles nodded vigorously, scooting over the edge of their wrecked bed and collapsing next to his own luggage, rooting around for clothes. "I like this plan."

It was a stupid plan, Derek knew, but unless he intended to take a cold shower, he _was_ going to have to get himself off or else he would be heading to their grandparents' house with a hard-on. And that just wasn't acceptable.

"Derek...." Stiles looked up at him from where he was still crouched beside his case, his eyes wide and his expression open. "Can I wear one of your shirts? It'd cover my wrists...."

Derek's eyes were drawn to where there were indeed bruises already blooming and marring the pale skin over delicate bones. He should have felt guilty, but instead he felt a surge of further arousal and heat, a sense of pride that warmed his heart and made his hard-on twitch.

He knew that Stiles had brought some long-sleeve shirts. He could see them in his bag, right now, underneath Stiles' hands. But the sleeves could ride up. And was he really going to turn down the chance to see Stiles in one of his shirts? The main thing he'd been fantasizing about ever since the first time it had happened?

No. No, he was not.

"Sure," he got out, bending and grabbing blindly.

"No, I...." Stiles pointed. "Can I wear your sweater?"

Derek looked at the swath of burgundy material he'd slung over the back of the hotel chair when they'd first entered the room.

"It smells like travel sweat," he said, frowning.

"I know." Stiles stood, fidgeting with the jeans and underwear he was holding. He was blushing but his chin was raised and he looked determined.

Derek's cock twitched at the thought, at the realization that Stiles wanted to be covered in his scent.... But he had to be the realistic, responsible one.

"Here," he said, tossing Stiles the grey long-sleeved teeshirt he'd chosen for himself. "The sweater would be too warm and then Grams would ask why you didn't take it off. And it really does stink."

Stiles scowled, fumbling but catching the shirt. "Okay," he sighed, then jerked his head to the side in a way that looked more spastic than anything else. "Come on, let's get each other off in the shower."

"Smooth," Derek grinned, but he followed as Stiles led the way. They were running out of time, and right now it was all to obvious what they had just been doing.

The shower was quick, they both came more quickly, and Derek made sure that they both used deodorant and cologne once they got out, suddenly paranoid that the smell of sex might be lingering on their skin even after bathing.

They were in a hurry but Derek took the time to shave, even though Stiles whined at him about it. He could see the faint pink roughed into the skin around Stiles' mouth, not awful but preventable, and if they were going to get up to more tonight, after they got back to the room, he didn't want to leave marks. Not where they couldn't be hidden, anyway.

The bruises around Stiles' wrists were dangerous enough. Hopefully the sleeves of the shirt Stiles had borrowed from Derek would cover them and Stiles' usual mad flailing wouldn't expose them. It was pretty obvious where they'd come from. Derek doubted either he or Stiles could come up with a good excuse for their existence, especially if they had to come up with one on the fly.

Well, Derek had bruised Stiles' wrists before, twice, and each time Stiles had kept the marks hidden from their parents until they had faded. Stiles might be a bit scatterbrained, but when he had his mind set on something he generally made _sure_ that it happened. And Stiles was smart enough to understand the need for discretion here.

"Fix your hair," Derek said, slapping on some shaving lotion even though he didn't need it the way Stiles did. He might not have such sensitive skin, but with as often as he needed to shave, it helped. 

Stiles stuck out his tongue, but did as he'd been directed. Well, if running his fingers through it so that it stood up in damp tufts counted as fixing it. Derek gave half a second's thought to doing it himself with his own hair gel, but then he thought about the possibility of sinking his fingers into Stiles' hair while Stiles sucked his cock later that night, and knew he'd be happier if it was still soft and product-free.

It was probably sheer insanity to be planning to further debauch his younger stepbrother when they came back to the hotel after dinner, but Derek felt like he'd started down the highest part of a roller coaster -- things set into motion when Stiles had stolen his towel and then asked to touch his cock -- and now it was too late, there was no turning back or even slowing down.

It was easier to just stop thinking and keep doing. Derek knew that this was wrong, for all the reasons he'd been telling himself ever since that night he had pinned Stiles to the living room floor, but now he was aware that Stiles wanted this too, giving Derek even more reason to keep going.

By the time they were finished getting ready it was ten minutes past when they were supposed to be headed to their grandparents' but it didn't surprise Derek that their parents hadn't knocked on the door yet. 

"Come on," he said, grabbing his wallet with the hotel card-key and his phone, shoving them in his pockets. "Let's go wait by the car."

Stiles followed obediently, his own phone in hand. Derek didn't say so out loud, but his reason for wanting to meet their parents in the parking lot mostly had to do with how much their room reeked of sex. As he closed the door behind him, he put the little "service needed" card on the outside knob, hoping that someone would see it and come change the bedsheets while they were gone. It was early evening, so it might be unlikely, but it was worth a shot.

They actually beat their parents to the car. Derek texted his Mom that they were down there waiting, and within three minutes she and their Dad joined them.

Talia yawned, scratching at her scalp through her dark hair, her eyes still sleepy.

"I swear," she drawled, reaching out and patting Derek's shoulder in greeting, "I think our neighbors on the other side were having sex. Thank God for thicker walls in this hotel than usual!"

Derek felt his face go white in sudden terror and panic. There should have been some shame there, too, but he wasn't really feeling it. Not when Stiles had been such an enthusiastic participant in what was probably the sex their Mom had heard. 

Hell, Stiles had stolen Derek's towel and then asked to touch his cock; it wouldn't be wrong to call him the _instigator_.

"I didn't hear anything," Dad shrugged, as Derek pointedly did not look at Stiles, and made a mental note for both of them to be more quiet in the future.

If. _If_ they fooled around any more. They really shouldn't. And yet, Derek was already addicted to Stiles' body and scent and those nimble fingers and his hungry mouth. How could he give that up? Especially if it was what Stiles wanted as well....

"That's because you were asleep," his Mom said, punching her husband lightly on the arm. 

"Probably snoring too," Stiles said, and he looked a little manic, his cheeks flaming brightly, when Derek finally darted a quick glance his way, but he seemed to be holding it together better than Derek felt he was. "I'm surprised you could hear anything."

Dad glared first at Stiles, then his wife. He always maintained he didn't snore, but they all knew better. Talia had recordings on her phone, Derek knew. At least he didn't snore super loudly, like Scott McCall did. Then again, he didn't have asthma, the way Scott did.

Mom shrugged, looking supremely unconcerned while Derek felt like he was seconds away from his world coming to a shattering end.

"Well, that probably part of why I only suspect. You boys didn't hear anything, did you?" Mom asked. "I'm pretty sure it was in the room on the other side of ours to yours."

"Nope," Stiles chirped at the same time Derek shook his head and said "No," with utter certainty.

Derek was grateful that the bed in his and Stiles' hotel room was against the wall _not_ shared with their parents' room, he was grateful for his stepfather's snoring, and he was incredibly grateful that his mother thought it had been the room on their other side. He and Stiles were going to have to be a _lot_ more careful, though. Or else not do anything at all.

Yeah, like that last was going to happen. Derek knew better. Maybe they could turn the television on loudly to cover up any sounds that they ended up making.

"Well, the important thing is that we're well-rested and ready to head off," Dad said, reaching out and ruffling Stiles' damp hair. "Everyone ready to deal with Peter?" 

Stiles wrinkled his nose, Mom sighed and rolled her eyes, and Derek grimaced.

"I'm ready for Papa Hale's barbeque, that's what I'm ready for!" Stiles declared, rubbing his hands together gleefully. He looked like a super villain in training or something, and Derek felt his heart warm with affection.

God, Stiles used to annoy the shit out of him on these family trips, but now Derek found him somewhat charming. Awkward and occasionally ridiculous, but strangely adorable.

"Stiles, why are you wearing Derek's shirt?" Mom asked, as they all piled into the car. "It's a little big on you."

"Because I only brought teeshirts, and the evening's probably going to get cool," Stiles blithely lied. There had been plenty of tops other than teeshirts in his luggage, of course, but he'd come up with a reasonable excuse. And a believable one; considering that once he'd made a trip to visit the Stilinski grandparents without packing any socks or underwear. 

Of course, now he'd pretty much locked himself into wearing Derek's shirts for the entire trip, because he'd said he only had teeshirts, and he wouldn't be _able_ to wear teeshirts. Not with the bruises ringing his wrists.

Derek burned with something that was more possessive pride than any sense of shame. He shouldn't have done that, he shouldn't have marked Stiles like that, but....

But Stiles had liked it. He'd wanted it. And he'd told Derek so. How could Derek regret having given in to what they both wanted?

"Did you ask first?" Mom wanted to know as they all buckled up.

Derek blushed, even though she was responding to what Stiles had said, not what Derek had been thinking. 

"I did!" Stiles squalled defensively. "Right, Derek?"

"He did ask, Mom," Derek verified.

"All right, I was just making sure," she said, turning to look out the windshield as their Dad started the car. "I'm going to call and let them know we're on our way now, so be quiet."

Derek reached over and palmed Stiles' thigh for a moment, before reluctantly withdrawing his hand. Maybe on the way back to the hotel, once it was dark in the car, he'd be able to maintain a touch like that, but right now it was best not to chance any more awkward questions.

Stiles smiled at him, sweet and happy, and it made something in Derek's heart clench.

It was the way Stiles spent half the trip squeezing his own wrist through the over-long sleeve of Derek's shirt and the other half nibbling at the hem of the sleeve that had Derek's cock stirring in his jeans, though. 

They were headed to spend time with the grandparents, so Derek did his best to banish inappropriate thoughts. After what they'd spent hours getting up to in their hotel room, that was easier said than done, but he made his best effort. He really did.

+=+=+

Stiles liked the Hale side of the family just as much as he did the Stilinski side, he considered them his own, he enjoyed seeing all of them... but he had always felt as though Uncle Peter was kind of creepy.

Derek felt the same way, Stiles knew. It wasn't anything in particular that Peter _did_ ; it was just sort of the way he _was_. Well, that and he sometimes said deeply inappropriate things, and he did it on purpose, not by accident the way Stiles did.

When Peter hugged his older sister, he held on just a little too long. When he hugged Derek, Stiles saw him brush a hand casually over his butt as he let go. And when he embraced Stiles in turn, his hands didn't wander but he turned his face toward Stiles and breathed in deeply, as though he was smelling him. 

See? _Creepy_.

Stiles' Dad didn't get a hug from Peter. Peter had tried once, at his and Mom's wedding, then never again.

"You boys are getting so... big," Uncle Peter murmured, the pause communicating as much as the gaze that he swept over them both, head to toe. He looked a little too much like he approved of what he was seeing when he looked at Derek, the corners of his mouth curling up in a smug little smile, and then he positively _smirked_ as he stared at Stiles' face.

"What?" Stiles asked, fighting hard not to reach up and touch his cheeks and chin. Peter was probably just messing with him and wanted him to flail like he always did....

"You're looking a little pink around the mouth," Peter said, still smirking, his eyes bright and knowing. "Skin looks a little rough, Stiles, like you tangled with something scratchy."

Oops. Stiles bit his lip, _not_ glancing at Derek, who he could sense on his peripheral had gone tight and tense. 

Plastering on a carefree expression, Stiles reached up and ran a hand over his face, because now he knew that Peter had actually seen something, and the perfect lie popped into his head and flowed easily out his lips.

"I shaved before we came over here," he offered, grinning back at Peter just as hard as he could. Their parents were talking to his grandparents and hopefully not listening, but Stiles had to put up a good front or Uncle Peter would do nothing but take advantage. "I have sensitive skin."

One of Peter's brows arched, and maybe Stiles shouldn't have tacked on that last, but it was too late to take the words back. It was true, anyway, and might help explain the stubble-burn he was still sporting.

"I'm sure you do," Peter drawled, still smiling, and he looked over at Derek. "I see that you've shaved recently too, Derek," he said, his voice filled with not so well concealed amusement and barely restrained innuendo.

Derek shrugged uncomfortably, scowling. "How can you tell?" he demanded, even though he knew as well as Stiles did that it was better not to engage Uncle Peter when he was teasing them.

"The lack of stubble was a tip-off," Peter informed him, no trace of sarcasm in his voice but the words themselves dripping with it. "Considering that you've been sporting a healthy five o'clock shadow the last few times I've seen you, I make note of its lack. So you must have shaved about the same time Stiles did." He's lip quirked even higher in one corner, but instead of following that up with anything more accusatory, he simply clapped Derek on the shoulder and said, "You're both just growing up so fast!"

The words were perfectly innocent, an uncle wondering over the maturation of his pubescent nephews, but the tone made it clear that he knew exactly why Stiles' mouth was pink, why Derek had shaved, how these things were connected, and that he also made a good guess as to what the two of them had been getting up to in the hotel room before coming over here.

Stiles flushed and Derek continued to scowl, but then Grams Hale was coming to their rescue; possibly on purpose, because she _had_ to know how her youngest son was by now.

"Peter's right," she said, which wasn't anyone's favorite thing to hear, but then she continued with, "Both you boys are getting so big!"

And _she_ wasn't saying it in a pervy or suggestive way; she was just a grandmother gushing over her grandsons.

"Aren't they?" Mom said proudly, reaching over and dragging Stiles into her arms for a quick squeeze. And maybe not so incidentally pulling him further away from Peter, even though he hadn't touched Stiles since hugging him. "Stiles is almost as tall as I am and he's already shaving!"

"So I hear," Peter murmured, lips curved, eyes bright.

Stiles sent Derek a longsuffering look, and Derek grinned easily at him. The tension Peter had been building collapsed in the face of mildly embarrassing parental and grandparental pride, and then they were all heading out to the back yard for barbeque and drinks and lots of laughing and talking.

Stiles stuck close to his Dad, and they both helped Grams Hale set the table and collect the side dishes and condiments. Derek followed his mother to "help" Papa Hale at the grill, which really just meant hovering, offering unsolicited advice, and bullshitting about things while drinking beer.

Peter kind of moved around the periphery of the action, seeming involved without actually helping, watching everything with bright blue eyes, and spending pretty much the whole time _smirking_ at either Stiles or Derek. 

Stiles was well aware that Uncle Peter was objectively handsome, with clean-cut features that were just unique enough to be interesting, closely-cut facial hair, and a compact but leanly muscled body. Heck, he'd had something of a crush on Peter when he'd been younger, before he'd realized how sleazy his new uncle sometimes came off seeming.

He still thought Peter was hot.... But nowhere _near_ as hot as Derek, and right now Peter was looking at them both as if he knew exactly what they had done. Stiles had to remind himself that as long as he kept his sleeves down, Uncle Peter could only _guess_. Sure, the stubble-burn was unfortunate, but Stiles had explained it away. Everything else was only speculation in Peter's part.

Peter could still say something, he could plant the seed of suspicion in Mom and Dad's minds.... But he didn't. Aside from his pointed references regarding Stiles' face, he kept quiet. Stiles had expected him to utter more pervy innuendos. Heck, Uncle Peter was usually full of pervy innuendos. 

But maybe only when there wasn't actually anything to be pervy about. Or maybe he liked having something over Derek and Stiles. Or maybe, just maybe, he kind of approved? 

Stiles didn't think he was imagining the strange pride in Uncle Peter's gaze as he looked at them. Which was pretty gross. Because Peter was almost the same age as their Mom while Stile was _only thirteen_ , and Derek was actually _closely related_ to Peter; he was Peter's sister's son!

But whatever kept him quiet, right? Stiles just hoped that Peter didn't start, like, blackmailing them at some point.

Aside from Uncle Peter's smirks and his knowing gaze, the evening was just as pleasant as it always was. Even more so, actually, because Stiles and Derek could converse like normal people instead of sniping at each other or ignoring each other. Stiles could tell Mom was proud of them, and Papa Hale mentioned how nice it was, before Grams shushed him. She smiled sunnily at both Stiles and Derek, though, so she was happy too.

The food was delicious, as always. Stiles _loved_ Papa Hale's barbeque, and ate five different kinds of meats with all the sides, until he was stuffed and groaning. No regrets. He didn't even mind helping clean up, though it was hard to move with his heavy tummy. They left out some of the food to nibble on while they sat around and talked, but for a change Stiles had the sense not to put anything else in his mouth.

Well, nothing edible. He found himself gnawing on the sleeve of Derek's shirt a few times, where it was riding down to cover his hand to the knuckles. When he caught himself doing it, he glanced guiltily at Derek and found he was watching with an intent, steamy expression that said he didn't mind at all. 

And Uncle Peter just kept smirking at both of them.

Grams handed Derek a beer after dinner which made Dad roll his eyes but he didn't say anything. They were on the Hale property so it wasn't illegal, even though Derek was still more than three years away from being twenty-one.

Derek actually didn't like beer that much, Stiles knew -- he wasn't sure how he knew; he just did -- and so he just kind of nursed it for a while. He offered Stiles a sip, but it was mostly the way that Derek's lips caressed the top of the bottle that had Stiles' attention. He felt warm all the way through, his dick swelling, and he remembered that Derek wanted to "take him apart" and he kind of really wanted to be back at the hotel _right now_....

Thankfully, Peter was distracted, telling Mom and Dad all about his new freelancing job. Stiles thought that Mom looked a little relieved to hear that Peter was working. Even though he annoyed her sometimes, and did things like taking up the better guest room when he knew the family was coming, Talia cared about her younger brother and worried about him.

Stiles wondered if that was how Derek was supposed to feel about him. If that was how Derek _would_ feel about Stiles in the future. Well, Stiles wasn't going to be as creepy as Uncle Peter, hopefully. And he didn't think he'd be as likely to get involved with shady work that may or may not be illegal. 

He still wasn't clear on what Peter did for a living, but he knew that Dad vaguely disapproved and that Mom was concerned that he was potentially breaking the law. That was why everyone was so happy to hear about his actual real job right now.

Derek had the lip of the beer bottle pressed to his own lower lip now, just holding it there, staring at Stiles with a heated gaze. So why was Stiles thinking about Uncle Peter when he could be eye-fucking his older stepbrother? 

He went to smile at Derek, then realized his sleeve was in his mouth again. "Sorry," he mumbled, pulling it out and trying to smooth it down around his knuckles. It was a little damp, which was kinda gross, but it wasn't too bad. He wasn't a teething baby who slobbered all over things. He might have an oral fixation, and he might even suck his thumb in private, but he wasn't sloppy.

He was kind of bummed that he was wearing a _clean_ shirt of Derek's, that didn't smell or _taste_ like his stepbrother's body.... But he'd have felt more guilty over chewing on the burgundy sweater. And it wasn't as though he wasn't going to get to taste Derek's body directly, once they were back at the hotel.

Derek's brows rose and his face did that weird complicated thing that Stiles was growing used to. "Don't apologize," he murmured back, his voice low and a little husky. His cheekbones were flushed, and the grown-ups might think it was due to the beer but Stiles knew better.

He hung his head a little, smiling, and glanced at Derek through his lashes, but he didn't dare to look at him the way he _really_ wanted. Uncle Peter wasn't looking at them right this instant, but if he caught Stiles or Derek giving each other the sex-stare he'd be even more convinced that he knew what was going on between them.

Which, to be fair, was exactly what was going on between them. But Peter didn't need to know that!

"Anyone ready for dessert?" Grams asked, as Papa Hale broke into the wine. The switch from beer to wine meant that dinner was officially over and it was time for everyone to kick back and relax. It was getting a little chilly outside, as Stiles had predicted, and he was grateful to be wearing one of Derek's long-sleeved shirts instead of a teeshirt. Yeah, he could have layered up with a plaid.... But _he was wearing one of Derek's shirts_.

And unless Stiles was horribly misreading things, that seemed to turn Derek on at least as much as it turned Stiles on, if not more so!

Dad groaned and clutched at his stomach. "I'm still full from dinner."

"I'm ready for dessert!" Stiles chirped, bouncing up and helping Mom begin clearing away the last of the food. The sooner it was put away, the sooner he'd be eating delicious sugary pastries baked by his grandparents. Also, it made Talia happy when her sons were helpful while her own parents could see; made her feel like she was raising them right, Stiles thought.

Anyhow, sitting around staring at Derek was only going to get Stiles more and more turned on, and that wasn't a good idea when he had a thirteen year old hair-trigger dick and they were surrounded by parents, grandparents, and _Peter_.

Peter was still smirking at both Stiles and Derek, but they were doing their best to ignore him. It wasn't actually that much different from usual, though it was a little more pointed and knowing than he normally looked. 

The party moved inside, Stiles ate too much _again_ , and he lobbied for some wine of his own, but evidently thirteen was too young for even a taste. They didn't offer Derek any, either, so there was that.

Stiles was no wilting flower, but it had been a long day, he'd gotten up early, and he and Derek had had some pretty vigorous sex, so by the time the clocks rolled around to a quarter to eleven, Stiles was yawning and drooping to rest his head against Derek's shoulder. His broad, warm, powerfully muscled shoulder....

Normally at this point in the evening Derek and Stiles would retreat to their guest room to sleep or play around on Derek's laptop and Stiles' hand-held game systems while the adults drank wine and talked. But since Peter was hogging up the guest room their parents normally took....

"I could drive back to the hotel and you guys could sleep in the other guest room," Derek suggested, carefully not moving. He didn't have his arm around Stiles or anything, but he didn't seem to mind being used as a pillow.

"The one with the twin beds?" Dad said, pulling a sour face. Stiles felt his own mouth draw down at the corners. Objectively, he was glad to know that his parents still loved either other enough to _want_ to sleep in the same bed, and they shared a bed at home, but the thought of it... just, euw, no.

"Anyway, all our stuff is at the hotel," Mom pointed out, which made sense.

"I could take them in my car," Peter offered smoothly. "Then you're free to go back to the hotel whenever you want."

"Are you sure?" Mom asked, glancing pointedly at the wine glass in Peter's hand.

Peter nodded. "This is my first, and I've only sipped it," he assured their parents, setting the glass down. "And I don't mind driving the boys."

"Well, as long as you don't mind."

And just like that, Derek and Stiles were remanded into Peter's care. Stiles had mixed feelings about this fact. He was glad to be headed back to the hotel with Derek, because Derek had made him some pretty damned sexy promises before they'd gotten ready to come to the Hale house. On the other hand, they were going to be stuck in the car with Peter for as long as it took to reach the hotel.

Well, it was a short trip. Just ten minutes if traffic wasn't too bad, and it was almost eleven at night so it shouldn't be.

"Sit up front with me, Derek," Peter directed when Derek tried to get in the back with Stiles after they'd said goodnight to their parents and grandparents and promised to be ready in time to come over for a huge brunch the next morning. "Otherwise I'll feel like I'm driving a taxi."

Derek grumbled something under his breath that Stiles couldn't hear, but he did as directed. Stiles felt the passing urge to insist that _he_ be allowed to sit up front, to protest that he shouldn't be relegated to the back just because he was younger, but he didn't really _want_ to be in the passenger seat of Peter's car, so he let Derek take that bullet.

Stiles had expected Peter to _say_ something as soon as they were all in the car and on the road, away from their parents and his own parents, but he didn't. 

Well, he talked. But he didn't slip any pointed innuendos in there, which _had_ to be tempting, Stiles thought.

Instead, Peter just grilled Derek on how school was going, what his plans for college were, how often he worked out in order to maintain his impressive physique.... Normal things that an uncle might normally ask about, even though that last was a little questionable.

Stiles didn't like the way Peter sometimes seemed to leer at Derek, even though he was probably -- hopefully? -- just doing it to rile Derek up. They were closely related, and that was kind of sketchy. At least Stiles wasn't actually Derek's younger brother, and they'd never really acted all that much like siblings. It hadn't felt like incest when Stiles had been sucking Derek's dick.

In the dark of the back seat, it seemed perfectly reasonable for Stiles to dwell on that memory and the fact that Derek had said he was planning to return the favor... but then they were at the hotel and Stiles was going to have to get out of the car and walk into the building with a big old boner while Peter was watching. Maybe not his smartest move ever. At least Derek's shirt was large on him and the hem hung low below his waist and around his crotch.

Stiles tried to quickly and surreptitiously adjust himself as Derek opened his door and got out of the car. He was less than smooth, but he didn't think Peter saw...?

"You boys have fun," Peter said smarmily, leaning against his steering wheel and twisting to smirk at Stiles. Derek opened the back door for him while Stiles blushed incriminatingly. 

Stiles wrinkled his nose and he knew Derek was scowling fiercely, but neither of them dared to say anything. Not when Peter could just drive back to his parents' house and give the game away.

"Want me to send you a warning text when your parents are headed back?" Peter offered, and he was grinning widely at Stiles now, where he was hovering with one butt cheek still on the edge of the seat and one foot on the ground outside.

"There's nothing to warn for," Derek snapped, reaching down and grabbing Stiles' upper arm, dragging him out of Peter's car. Stiles staggered, bracing himself against Derek's broad chest as he fought to get his feet steady under him. Derek's hand was wide and possessive on his upper back, and Stiles knew even without looking that Derek was glaring at Peter even more angrily.

"Of course not," Peter said smoothly, "You'll both be sound asleep by then, right?"

"Right." Derek slammed the car door shut, and Stiles was a little worried that he was being too rude, that he was going to piss Peter off, but as Derek manhandled him away from Peter's car and into the hotel, he could hear Peter behind them, rolling down his window and calling out something that sounded an awful lot like, "Be safe, boys!"

And Peter's tone was cheerful and wicked, so Stiles figured he wasn't mad enough to go and rat them out to their parents. Hopefully. And hopefully he wasn't going to want anything in exchange for his silence.

It wasn't as if Peter _knew_ anything.... But if he informed their parents of what he suspected then they might start being suspicious too, even if they didn't believe him.

The thought of this made Stiles' stomach churn with anxiety. He tried to banish it, though, because Peter had seemed as if he was encouraging them, which mean that he was probably going to keep their secret. Right? Hopefully. And Stiles also hoped that Peter wasn't going to ask for anything they couldn't give him in order to maintain his silence.

Then they were in the hotel room, and some kind soul had remade the bed with fresh sheets and Derek had promised Stiles could suck him off again, and he was still handling Stiles just roughly enough to completely turn him on, so Stiles let his worries slide away.

"Now, I believe you said something about taking me apart?" he said archly, gravitating toward Derek's bulk and his body heat, breathing in the scent of him. Being dragged and tossed around probably shouldn't turn him on as much as it did, but....

Stiles _liked_ that Derek was so much bigger and stronger than he was, He liked that Derek was feeling so possessive and protective toward him. And he was really looking forward to the promised blowjob. Both the one he'd been told he could give Derek, and the one Derek had said he'd give Stiles.

Derek paused, staring down at Stiles blankly, but Stiles thought that he could see all sorts of thoughts going on behind the pale blue-green-hazel-fantasy-color of his wide-set eyes. He just wished he knew what those thoughts were.

Stiles waggled his brows, and it was a ridiculous move, he knew the moment he did it, had to look stupid as fuck, but it seemed to work, because the next thing he knew Derek was stripping his borrowed shirt right off of him.

"Aw!"

"Shut up," Derek growled, picking Stiles up as though it was effortless, plopping him on his back on the bed, and shucking off his jeans and underwear far more quickly than Stiles would have managed if he'd tried to do it himself.

"Okay," Sties grinned up at Derek. "I can work with this."

Derek rolled his eyes, but his expression was more fond than anything else and he pulled off his own shirt before he joined Stiles on the bed.

"Mm, nice," Stiles said, and he was a little embarrassed to be naked while Derek was still wearing his jeans, but at least Derek's chest was bare. His broad, sculpted, lightly furred chest.

"If I'd had to watch Peter give you the perverted eyes one more time, I'd have had to beat the shit out of him," Derek growled, propping himself on his side next to Stiles and planting a hand on his chest before he could roll into him.

Stiles snorted, reaching and running his fingers over the dark curls dusting Derek's pectorals. That was all he could reach right now, but he _liked_ it, and he'd been the one to talk Derek into growing his chest hair back out, so he was a little proprietary over the hairs currently under his hand; not to mention a lot turned on by the feeling of touching them.

"Please," he said a little scornfully, drinking in the sight of Derek's face, his chest, his collarbones, his _everything_. "I'm a scrawny thirteen year old. If anything Peter was giving _you_ the perverted eyes!"

Derek pulled a horrified face. "Gross! I'm his sister's son!"

Stiles cackled, even though he'd had the same thought. More than once, in fact, and this wasn't the first visit where it had happened.

"Doesn't stop him from groping your butt when he hugs you."

Derek's horror intensified. "He only brushed a hand against my ass _accidentally_ ," he said stridently.

"Accidentally every time?" Stiles asked archly, knowing he was right.

"Why are we talking about Peter right now?" Derek grouched, probably mad because he couldn't refute Stiles' words. "You're killing my boner."

Stiles glanced downward.

"Metaphorically," Derek grumbled. He was at least half hard in his jeans already from what Stiles could make out of the bulge in the jeans he was regrettably still wearing. Stiles himself was still sporting a full hard-on thanks to his thoughts in the car, and talking about Peter being a creeper hadn't managed to turn him off. Then again, Peter wasn't actually related to him.

"Let's get back to the part where you're a possessive asshole who doesn't want his creepy uncle ogling my nubile young body," Stiles suggested, grinning at Derek.

He expected Derek to roll his eyes, maybe even to say that Stiles had killed the mood completely, but instead he breathed, "Yeah," and rolled toward Stiles, so that his chest was resting half over top of Stiles' and he was ringing him in with his arm.

"I was kidding," Stiles said weakly, staring up at Derek, who was staring back at him, his face so close that their eyes were almost crossing. "About being nubile."

Derek arched one thick brow. "Are you impugning my taste?" he asked dangerously.

"What?" Stiles gasped. "No! Well, I mean, kind of, but--"

Then Derek was cutting him off with a kiss to his open lips, and Stiles decided that this was his new favorite way to be shut up.

Well, it was kind of tied with having a dick in his mouth. That was really awesome too. And if Stiles was lucky, and managed not to completely destroy the mood somehow, he was going to have both again tonight!

He hadn't had a lot of practice yet, but it involved using his tongue and his lips, and he was a quick study, so Stiles thought that he was getting pretty good at this kissing thing already.

At least, he _hoped_ he was getting good at kissing. He might have asked Derek, but then he'd be inviting comparison to Derek's past lovers, and Stiles didn't want that. Derek didn't have a monopoly on being a jealous, possessive asshole, after all. It was bad enough knowing that Derek had slept with other people; Stiles really didn't want to hear about it.

Anyway, if Derek didn't like the way Stiles kissed, he'd have stopped kissing him by now, right? And he hadn't. His tongue was wedged in Stiles' mouth, sliding slick and hot around his own, and that was still just about the weirdest thing Stiles had ever experienced, but in a good way, a very good way that he enjoyed a lot.

"Hey," he gasped out breathlessly once Derek had released his mouth. His lips were tingling and he was kind of glad that Derek had shaved, even though he liked the way Derek looked with stubble. "You should take off your jeans and let me suck your dick again."

Derek groaned and dropped his head down onto Stiles' shoulder. "Damn it, Stiles, you can't just _say_ things like that."

"Why not?" Stiles asked, worried that he'd screwed things up somehow. "Did I do wrong?"

Derek sighed and planted a kiss on Stiles' clavicle before raising his head again.

"No, but you're gonna make me come in my pants."

Stiles arched his brows. "I fail to see the drawback," he informed Derek tartly, knowing he was being something of a little jerk and not caring. "Then I'd get to put your dick in my mouth when it was soft, and you're seventeen so you would probably get it up again pretty quickly."

"God _damn_ it," Derek gritted out, glaring down at him, his expression strained. Stiles noted belatedly that Derek had been rocking slightly against the mattress to the side of his hip; he really only realized because Derek had just gone completely still.

Man, if he was trying _not_ to jizz himself, that was one of the sexiest, most flattering things Stiles could ever have imagined.

He was just mentally congratulating himself when Derek said, "You need to work on your bedroom talk." But then he took the sting out of the words by crushing a fierce kiss against Stiles' lips and chin, then continuing, "And I think it's time for me to return the favor."

"You mean...?" Stiles didn't want to make any assumptions, but....

"I mean I want to suck your cock," Derek growled, clarifying.

"Well, all right," Stiles sighed, letting himself flop bonelessly on the bed. "If you must."

Derek stared at him blankly for a moment and Stiles fought to restrain his amusement. Then one corner of Derek's lips twitched, and Stiles fell headlong into a fit of giggles. 

"Oh my God, Stiles, you--" Derek got out, and then he was laughing too.

+=+=+

It was probably mostly nerves that had them both collapsing into gales of laughter, Derek thought as Stiles giggled underneath him, but it was always a plus when he and his partner were having such a good time and when they both had a sense of humor.

That had been part of the problem with Paige, Derek thought. She's been sweet while at the same time not indulgent of his shit, but she had never really had much of a sense of humor. Not one that was compatible with Derek's sense of humor, anyway. Which he did have, thanks very much.

Derek was well aware that _some_ people -- including Stiles at times in the past -- didn't think he had a sense of humor. He did, it was just kind of snarky and dry and sometimes got mistaken for rudeness. 

Stiles understood it now, though. He hadn't always but the longer they'd lived together and the more they'd talked -- that latter being a recent thing -- the more Stiles _got_ Derek and his sense of humor.

Right now it was Stiles being a doofus, and making Derek laugh. It wasn't even that funny, but the whole afternoon and evening spent with their parents and grandparents and _Peter_ , and then having to ride back to the hotel with his uncle... well, it had all gotten Derek a little on edge. Especially since Peter seemed to have realized that Derek was banging his younger stepbrother....

At least he hadn't been disgusted, hadn't immediately said something to their parents. If anything he seemed to approve, but that was gross and Derek was going to stop thinking about his uncle now.

Especially since he had Stiles' eager hard-on to consider. He'd promised Stiles a blowjob and he had every intention of delivering. So maybe he'd never done it before and didn't know if he'd be any good. Stiles had already given Derek a blow and a half and he'd never even kissed anyone before, much less sucked anyone else's cock.

Derek didn't feel superior. He felt grateful and he wanted to reciprocate.

If he could make Stiles feel even half as good as Stiles had made him feel, then he'd count it a success. Though he certainly hoped to do better than half.

"I can't suck your cock while I'm laughing," he informed Stiles, sobering up with only a little effort. "Not safely, anyway."

Stiles' eyes widened, then his generous mouth curved up in a wide smile for no reason Derek could read. 

"What?" he asked brusquely, doing his best to glare when his amusement was still hovering around the corners of his own lips.

"You're really gonna do that?" Stiles was a little breathless, and Derek didn't think it was just from laughing.

"I said I would, didn't I?" Derek grumbled, "It's only fair."

A little frown creased the skin between Stiles' brows. "But do you want to?" He shifted uncomfortably underneath Derek. "I don't want you to do it just because you feel like you have to return the favor or anything."

Derek rolled his eyes. "That wasn't what I meant," he said in tones of exasperation even though he could see Stiles' point. "You know I want to do it. I've said so at least once."

Stiles' cheeks flushed even darker, and he looked pleased and a little shy, which rendered him far more adorable than he had any right to be. It also made him look younger, but Derek did his best to banish that last thought.

"Okay," he said again, but this time he didn't pretend to swoon, so Derek didn't start laughing. No, he just bent and kissed Stiles breathless. Because their parents were going to be at his grandparents' house for at least two or three more hours and so he could take his time with Stiles. He'd promised to take him apart, and Derek always tried to deliver on his promises. Especially ones like that, that he actively _wanted_ to deliver on.

As fluid as he was in his sexuality, Derek hadn't really thought that he'd find himself actually _wanting_ to suck someone's cock... but here he was, not only ready but eager to go down on Stiles.

Kissing Stiles was distracting, though. Derek kind of got lost in it. Stiles' lips were plump and plushy, always opening readily for him, his tongue was lithe and slick, and he wasn't shy about using it. And Derek just about came in his pants every time Stiles started to suck on his own tongue.

But kissing Stiles wasn't going to get Derek any closer to getting Stiles' cock in his mouth. So he reluctantly broke away. It was flattering when Stiles let out a sound of distress and reached for him as he pulled back, but Derek was heading somewhere good.

"Derek," Stiles whined.

"Hang on," Derek murmured, trying to think of the best way they could do this. He kept coming back to a reversal of their positions earlier that afternoon, and so he knelt up beside Stiles, not touching him anywhere. It was temporary, but Stiles set up a fuss like it was the end of the world.

"Scoot up and lean back against the pillows," Derek directed, already manually moving Stiles into the position he'd instructed him to take. He gave a brief moment's thought to stripping off his jeans, which were growing more than a bit binding at the crotch, but they'd just gotten fresh sheets on the hotel bed. If he jizzed unexpectedly, it would be better to do so in his pants. And maybe the denim straining over his balls might keep him from coming too quickly.

If it had been a little more uncomfortable than it was he'd have stripped, but it was something he could endure, for now. Most of his attention was on Stiles' cock, anyway, rather than his own.

As Derek had already noted, it was a nice cock, of a healthy size for Stiles' age, and he had zero qualms about putting it in his mouth. Well, almost zero qualms. Really, though, it kept coming back to the fact that if Stiles could do it so could Derek. He was the older, more mature of the two of them, and he was the one who'd actually had sexual experience before they'd started messing around.

Granted, the only blowjob he'd participated in with someone other than Stiles was one he'd _received_ rather than one he'd given. But he'd be damned if Stiles was going to outdo him in something like this. Bad enough the kid beat him at most video games.

Once he had Stiles where he wanted him -- sprawled on his back with his legs spread, blushing deliciously -- Derek moved between his thighs and spat in his hand before getting a firm grip on the shaft of Stiles' cock.

Stiles let out a squawk that made Derek smirk, but then he was facing down the moment of truth and the head of Stiles' hard cock, and he set aside his amusement in order to take Stiles erection as far into his mouth as he could manage.

Which he was surprised to discover wasn't as far as he'd expected. He had a newfound respect for Stiles, not the he was going to tell him, and even more so because his own cock was even bigger than Stiles' was.

Of course, Stiles' mouth was bigger than Derek's was, he thought with more fondness than spite. And Stiles had an obvious oral fixation that Derek didn't possess.

It was still pretty awesome, having Stiles' hard-on in his mouth, awesome in ways that Derek hadn't expected. And it had nothing to do with the fact that Stiles let out a rattling, sexy moan almost immediately and sank his fingers into Derek's hair as though he needed to hold onto something.

Derek recalled how favorably Stiles reacted to being manhandled, and he reached down with the hand not wrapped around the shaft of his cock to cup and squeeze one tight little ass cheek. Stiles had a nice ass, firm and taut, and Derek actually started thinking about things other than blowjobs that he could do, despite the fact that he was still getting used to the feeling of having a hard-on in his mouth, resting against his tongue.

Like wondering how Stiles would react to being fingered... how he might feel about full-on, penetrative anal sex....

But that was something Derek should set aside for later. Yes, there was lube in Derek's luggage. He wouldn't have gone on a trip without it. But he was already committed to sucking Stiles off; his younger stepbrother might just _kill_ him if he pulled away now and left the bed entirely.

So Derek turned his full attention to the firm young cock in his mouth, twitching and leaking between his palate and his tongue. It was extremely weird, completely different than anything Derek had ever done before, and yet he felt like he had a handle on it.

He just needed to follow Stiles' example. Suck hard, be careful of his teeth, and use his tongue. Shouldn't be too difficult, right?

Okay, it was a little difficult, Derek discovered as he worked at Stiles' erection, bobbing his head and using his fingers on the shaft below his lips the same as Stiles had done. But he made his best effort, and if the sounds that Stiles loosed were any indication, he seemed to be doing a good job.

A good _job_ at a blow _job_ , Derek laughed, but only internally. Actually laughing while sucking someone's cock wasn't a good idea, and Derek didn't want to try it. The play on words that had spun out in his head hadn't been _that_ funny.

Derek might have expected that all of his attention would be focused on Stiles' throbbing hard-on, since that was what he was sucking on, but he discovered that he was aware of everything even while he was working at giving the best head he was capable of with his inexperience. 

Like the way Stiles' fingers were clenched in his hair, pulling hard enough to bring tears to his eyes, making his scalp tingle. The way Stiles' stomach muscles were tensing above his nose, his hips moving rhythmically as though he would be thrusting into Derek's mouth if only he wasn't in a completely wrong position for that to be possible. The way Stiles' thighs were tight and his toes curled into the sheets to either side of Derek, his knees drawn up in sharp points. The way his ass was tightened up in the grip of Derek's flexing fingers.

Derek wished he could grab Stiles' ass with both hands, a cheek in each palm, but he needed one hand to work the pulsing shaft of his stepbrother's cock where his lips couldn't reach. It was wet and tacky with saliva and pre-come, and Derek didn't think that was gross or unnecessary, because he remembered both how sloppy Stiles' blowjob had been, and how good it had felt.

He was pretty sure Stiles was feeling the same pleasure; mostly because of the way he could hear Stiles' breath coming short and sharp, punctuated by little noises that seemed almost punched out of him, and the way his fingers were flexing on Derek's skull. 

This whole thing was really hot, Derek thought, and he set to work, sucking at Stiles' hot, heavy hard-on even harder. Which turned out to be either a mistake or a really great idea, because it was less than a full minute before Stiles was shouting and popping off in Derek's mouth.

To be honest Derek hadn't expected Stiles to come so quickly, but he wasn't all that surprised. Stiles was thirteen and getting his first blowjob; in retrospect Derek figured they were both lucky he hadn't come a lot faster.

Stiles had swallowed when Derek had come in his mouth, and lost in the haze of the moment and his own mounting arousal, Derek had no qualms about doing the same. 

That, he managed to do more neatly than Stiles, and without the coughing. Not that it was a competition, Derek thought smugly as he pulled off and wiped at his damp chin and numb lips, but if it had been he'd have won it.

Stiles probably felt like _he'd_ won, though, from the way he was sprawled limp with a blissed out expression, his face pink and sweat-dewed, his mouth hanging open temptingly as he panted for breath.

Derek was just becoming aware of his own need to come when Stiles made an entreating sound and reached up for him with clumsy arms. Since he had no desire to deny Stiles anything, Derek moved to lay beside him, pulling him into a warm embrace. Stiles was shivering slightly but calmed immediately as he pressed up against Derek's chest. Derek rubbed soothing spirals on his younger stepbrother's bony back and shoulderblades, and ignored the hard-on throbbing in his jeans and how much he wanted to take it out and do something about it.

"That was... _amazing_ ," Stiles husked out as soon as he was able to form words again, and that made Derek feel even better about the whole thing; not that he hadn't already felt good about it. It was pretty awesome knowing that he'd done well though; he definitely appreciated the positive feedback.

He grunted out some sort of reply, but really most of his attention was on the way the denim of his jeans seemed incredibly restrictive and how much he'd really like to get out of them.

"You still need to come, right?" Stiles squirmed, wriggling backwards out of Derek's arms, and he didn't have the wherewithal to stop him. "Take your pants off."

Derek moved to do as directed; not because Stiles had told him to do so, but because he _needed_ them off, _now_.

While he awkwardly unzipped and peeled off his jeans and boxer-briefs, Stiles clambered down off the bed and rooted around in his luggage.

Derek took a moment to appreciate the view, even though he was annoyed that Stiles had moved so far away from him. 

Stiles was naked, of course, and his cheeks were flushed... both sets. Derek imagined that he could see the marks of his own fingers, pinked into the round swell of one of Stiles' ass cheeks, but that might have been wishful thinking on his part.

At thirteen, Stiles' body was still mostly hairless, though he had a healthy thatch of pubes, and his balls were gaining a fine dusting of curls. It was nice to see that he was working his way through puberty, even if it didn't make Derek any less of a pervert for touching him.

Stiles' hair was mussed, which was ironic when it had been Derek's hair that Stiles had been tugging at. But the bed-head suited him, as it always did, as did the way his lips were red and wet.

Derek touched a fingertip to his own mouth. He wasn't anywhere near a mirror so he couldn't see himself, but he thought that his own lips were probably pressure-bruised and reddened. They _felt_ swollen and tender, and he couldn't help the way they curved in a smile. Blowing Stiles had filled Derek with a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction that he hadn't expected; especially seeing as he hadn't come himself yet.

"No need to look so smug, we all know you're a god in bed," Stiles snarked, but he sounded affectionate, and he was grinning back at Derek where he was standing beside the bed.

Derek raised a brow and reached down to stroke his aching cock a few times. Stiles was holding the lube that Derek had bought him, and he noted with carefully concealed amusement that the bottle was already half empty. Stiles might have been embarrassed near to humiliation by the gift, but he'd clearly been making good use of it.

"Don't be an asshole," Stiles told him, even though Derek hadn't thought he'd been anything approaching an asshole.

"What are you planning on doing with that?" he asked, instead of responding to the unjust accusation. "I thought you wanted to suck me off."

Stiles shrugged awkwardly, still smiling crookedly. "I'll do that later," he said with adorable confidence. "I still want to. But right now I think you should use this," he brandished the lube as though Derek wouldn't have any idea what he was talking about, "To get off between my thighs while I hold them together as tight as I can. Okay?"

Derek stared, as much stunned by this suggestion as by the bold way Stiles had just put it out there.

"Um." Stiles turned a brilliant shade of red which wasn't due to arousal and looked like it hurt. "I mean, if you want to, that is. You don't have t--"

"I want to," Derek blurted, before Stiles could backtrack too far. "I do! I just... wasn't expecting that," he finished, lamely but honestly.

Stiles blushed again, but more adorably and less painfully this time. "Well, it's something that I was thinking about when you were getting off by rubbing against my butt while you jerked me off this afternoon," he said earnestly, handing Derek the lube and crawling back up onto the mattress with him. "I liked that, a lot, but I thought it would be way better with lube."

Derek nodded wordlessly, because what could he say in the face of all this candid sex talk? Seriously, Derek was supposed to be the experienced one here! And yet it was Stiles who was doing what he wanted and making his needs known. In very plain language, no less.

"Okay," he said, which wasn't really what he'd meant to say, but it covered what he meant well enough, he supposed.

"Oh!" Stiles stiffened just when Derek was about to reach for him, making Derek nearly startle. "I forgot! A towel!"

Before Derek could react, Stiles was off the bed again and scampering naked into the bathroom. A towel was probably a good idea, Derek recognized. Even though it was a delay, it would help ensure that the sheets were fit for sleeping on tonight. Lube was meant to be slick and slippery, and sometimes that was as much a drawback as it was a benefit. Also, Derek was going to come at some point. God, he hoped he was going to come; and sooner rather than later!

Derek wanted to say something when Stiles came galloping back over to the bed, ugly white hotel towel waving behind him like a banner. Something witty or snarky or complimentary... or some combination of all three.... But nothing came to mind and so he remained silent.

He was self aware enough to recognize that he wanted to speak up pretty much solely in an attempt to regain control of the situation, and he was mature enough to know that he should just let it go. Barely mature enough. It was tough, though.

At least he couldn't mistake Stiles' enthusiasm. There was no way that Stiles didn't want this; especially since he had been the one to ask for it.

Derek had gotten what he'd asked for; he'd sucked Stiles off. Now it was Stiles' turn to have what he'd been daring enough to ask for.

Derek rubbed his cock a little more, no longer on the verge of coming, but trying to distract himself from the fact that -- speaking of the blowjob he'd given Stiles -- his mouth tasted funny and he really kind of wanted to brush his teeth. That could wait until after he'd gotten off. 

An event that was ever closer to happening now, as Stiles joined him on the bed again and spread out the towel with a care and focus that was a little ridiculous, but which was probably helping to keep him from freaking out.

"C'mere," Derek grunted, reaching and grabbed Stiles. He figured it would take Stiles' mind off of stressing over things if he just _made_ them happen. Besides, he knew that Stiles liked being manhandled. And even though Derek was trying to be a patient and careful lover who was making sure that Stiles' needs were met, he was growing increasingly more impatient and he really just wanted to _come_ already.

Pulling Stiles to him, Derek took a moment to kiss him fiercely, before turning him around and tucking him into the curve of his body where he was rolled onto his side. Stiles relaxed into this rough embrace, and Derek felt like he had done the right thing.

And he'd only _kind_ of done it out of selfishness... he'd also been thinking of Stiles, right?

Actually, if he'd paused to _think_ about what he was doing, Derek was afraid he'd dissolve into embarrassment or at least some extreme awkwardness. So he didn't think, he just did.

Getting the inside of Stiles' thighs slicked up with the lube was a messy procedure, and Derek was grateful that Stiles had thought to grab and put down a towel. It was either way different than greasing up a palm and jerking off, or Derek was just clumsy. He had to admit that he did linger over the incredibly soft, still hairless skin between Stiles' legs. It was so warm and so smooth... and Stiles made the most sensual sounds when Derek stroked him with lube-slathered palms.

Once he had Stiles all lubed up and had gotten the cap put back on, Derek reached down with his still-slick hand and cupped Stiles' cock, ignoring the way his own erection was throbbing and aching to get into the soft heat between Stiles' thighs.

He wasn't surprised to discover that Stiles was beginning to get hard again. He'd honestly have been more surprised if he hadn't.

"C'mon, Derek," Stiles whined, wiggling awkwardly backward in offering, as though his words weren't making things clear enough. "Hurry up."

"Don't tell me what to do," Derek ground out automatically, but he did move as directed and seated his hard cock in the soft, slick, deliciously heated space between Stiles' thighs.

After all, it wasn't as though he didn't want to, right?

It probably wasn't anything approaching penetrative sex, Derek thought foggily as he locked an arm around Stiles' bony hips and pulled him back into his pelvis, but it was still an amazing sensation; especially with the way Stiles squeezed his legs together with a force that actually surprised Derek.

"Oh my God," Stiles gasped, as though _he_ was the one whose entire body was flooded with intense pleasure and the need to hump his way to completion. Which, that was Derek, by the way. But he did retain enough mental acuity to be grateful that Stiles appeared to be enjoying this as well.

Derek would have liked to have had the ability to reach around and jerk Stiles off at the same time he was screwing between his legs, but he just couldn't. This wasn't like when he'd given Stiles a handjob earlier that day and rubbed off against his ass; the lube and the heated pressure between Stiles' thighs took this to a whole new level and kind of ruined Derek for anything other than rocking into that close, humid tightness, while clutching Stiles to him with arms that he just hoped weren't holding on painfully tightly.

At least Stiles seemed to be managing to grab his own cock and was rubbing himself as Derek pulsed against him. Derek could feel his pointy elbow moving and so he knew that Stiles was working himself closer to his own climax, taking up the slack for Derek.

In all honesty, as much as he was glad that Stiles was taking care of himself, there wasn't really room in Derek's brain for much of anything other than his own pleasure. He'd been distracted while blowing Stiles, he'd held off while Stiles had set up this whole scenario for him, but now it was time for him to fuck his way to completion between Stiles' silken thighs.

Not surprisingly after all this built-up and the novel feeling of his cock being pressed between Stiles' legs, the head of it butting up against Stiles' ballsack whenever he thrust in as far as he could, Derek didn't last very long.

He didn't even want to, as much pleasure as it was giving him, because he _just wanted to come_. And then he was there and it was roaring over him, and it was really very rude of him, but he shoved Stiles abruptly over onto his belly, grinding down on top of him, Stiles' legs trapped between his own, and he shouted as he shot off, probably more copiously than the towel was going to be able to contain.

The last thing he was thinking about now was the potential wet spot, though. He had Stiles under him, hot and wriggling, and the air smelled like sex, like freshly spilled semen, and fierce pleasure was still winging through him, tingling over every inch of his body, his tense muscles suddenly going loose and lax and dropping him over top of Stiles.

"Oh my God, Derek, seriously?" Stiles was squalling, and as he recovered his scattered senses, Derek realized that his younger stepbrother was trying to shove up from the mattress, his slender body pressing upward against his own from underneath him.

"Sorry," he gritted out, collecting himself and falling sideways off of Stiles, even though his instincts, even post-orgasm, were urging him to continue to push Stiles down into the mattress, to cover his entire body was Derek's own like a possessive, protective blanket.

"You're really fucking heavy after you come," Stiles grumbled, but he didn't really sound put out as he squirmed around against Derek's chest until he was facing him. He sounded almost admiring, even though Derek was pretty sure he didn't actually like getting crushed like that.

"Yeah," Derek sighed, because he couldn't refute it and because he was feeling generous and affectionate in his afterglow. He wrapped his arms around Stiles and reached down to palm one tight ass cheek, taking a moment to enjoy the reality of Stiles in his embrace before he thought about getting Stiles off a second time.

Speaking of which, though....

"I already came," Stiles said, moving so that his arms were around Derek's neck and their chests were pressed close. "When you shot off all over my balls, with my dick crushed between my stomach and the bed, it made me jizz too."

Instead of replying, Derek nuzzled at Stiles' chin and flushed cheek until their mouths came together, almost accidentally, and they both paused there to exchange some long, languid, blissed-out kisses.

"So that was good for you?" Derek finally asked Stiles, wincing internally at how cliched the words sounded as soon as they left his mouth. It was a legitimate question, though. Even though he already kind of knew the answer, since Stiles had climaxed right after him.

"So good," Stiles breathed, nuzzling at Derek's hot cheek with the tip of his cute upturned nose. Derek clutched him closer, even though he was on the verge of drifting off to sleep, filled with a sudden wave of intense affection for his stepbrother.

"Good," was Derek's intelligent contribution to this muted conversation, and he managed through brute strength and sheer determination to drag the towel out from under them both. He dropped it over the edge of the bed then pulled the covers up over them, all while holding onto Stiles, keeping him close. Then he and Stiles kissed some more until they both fell asleep with their faces only inches from one another and their arms wrapped around each other in a way that should have been uncomfortable but wasn't.

They slept like this until Derek's phone unexpectedly went off, beeping loudly to let him know he had a text message because he hadn't set it on silent, starling them both awake. 

"Shit," Derek groaned, contemplated just leaving it where it was, on the nightstand where he'd put it when he'd taken off his jeans earlier, but it might be important; it might be their parents. He was on a trip and his friends were all busy with their own long weekend plans, so they would be unlikely to contact him, especially in the middle of the night.

The air was chilly as Derek emerged partway from under the covers, just enough to reach for his phone. He grabbed it and retreated back into the warmth of the sheets.

Stiles grumbled and buried his face against Derek's chest as he settled down next to him again. Derek wrapped one arm around him, then cursed and squinted as the screen of his phone shone bright in the dark room.

"Ow," Derek grunted, blinking away tears and trying to see who had texted him.

**[Just letting you know your parents are on their way back to the hotel. Although I'm sure both you and Stiles are both sweetly asleep right now anyway.]**

"Fucking Uncle Peter," Derek growled, thumbing off the display and tossing his phone back toward the nightstand with extreme prejudice. It didn't stay there, from the clatter and then the thud on the floor that followed his careless toss, but he didn't care. He was so freaking annoyed with his weird, pervy uncle. Ugh.

Stiles snickered and cuddled more closely, and Derek would have told him he could go to hell too, it wasn't funny, but he was distracted by a jaw-cracking yawn and by the time he'd recovered from that he was already falling asleep again.


	10. Chapter 10

It wasn't even one full day before Peter was stirring the pot again, so to speak. In fact, it was before they had even finished the delicious and generous brunch that their grandparents had put on the table, ready when they arrived from the hotel.

"I've got us tickets for a wine tasting day-trip on a train," Peter announced, displaying said tickets with a flourish, a wide grin on his face that -- to his credit -- looked completely guileless. He seemed excited about his offering, and Peter was rarely excited over things, instead tending to play it cool no matter what was going on. 

"But the boys can't join us on that," Talia protested, reaching over and running a hand through Derek's carefully styled but product-free hair. Stiles tried desperately to _not_ think about burying his own fingers in that thick, dark hair just the night before, because Talia was his _mother_ \-- well, stepmother, same difference -- but it was hard.

Heh. Hard.

Okay, it wasn't _literally_ hard, right now, but Stiles was in very real danger of _becoming_ hard. Because he couldn't stop thinking about how amazing it had felt when Derek had blown him last night and how he hadn't seemed to mind Stiles puling his hair while he did it....

"Well, no," Peter said, looking thoughtfully down at the tickets as he fanned them out on the table. "That's why I only got five seats."

"It doesn't seem fair to do something that doesn't include them," Grams Hale said, looking at Peter with irritated fondness. Stiles was familiar with that expression from his own parents' faces... and that realization made him a little uncomfortable.

Well, he _hoped_ he wasn't ever going to end up like Uncle Peter; something of a wastrel, viewed with mingled affection and suspicion by his family, potentially involved in less than legal things.

Also, kind of incestuously overly-affectionate to his sister and nephew, if the complete truth was told, though that part of it was more objective than anything and Talia and Derek both seemed to be in complete denial that it might be happening.

Well, as far as that went, Stiles didn't have a sister, and he wasn't _actually_ related to Derek, so what they were doing wasn't really incest. At least there was that.

"They'll be fine here at your place," Peter was saying, frowning at his mother, looking a little pouty, to be perfectly honest. "It's just an afternoon trip, about four hours not counting travel time to and from the station."

"And that's today?" Papa Hale asked, raising one massive eyebrow. Derek had definitely inherited those from his grandfather, though his weren't quite as impressive... yet. "This afternoon? Pretty short notice, don't you think?"

Peter threw his hands in the air, and now he really was getting his sulk on. Stiles bit back a grin, because Peter was looking increasingly wounded but Stiles could _see_ the sparkle in his crystal blue eyes and he was pretty sure he was playing this up.

"I wanted to do something nice, to celebrate my new job," Peter said dramatically. "I didn't know it was going to be such a problem. We don't _have_ to go. I can see if I can get a refund on the tickets."

Stiles watch, smirking internally as the other adults all caved. Peter was over thirty years old but he was still clearly the baby of the family and he just as clearly knew exactly how to get his way.

Even though he knew better, Stiles _might_ have bought Peter's whole act... if he hadn't fielded a quick wink from his uncle while his parents were making sure Derek was okay with watching Stiles and his grandparents started clearing the table.

"It's fine," Derek said mildly as Stiles snickered and winked back at Peter probably a little less subtly than Peter had managed but no one was looking. "I don't mind at all."

"We'll do something fun this evening," Grams Hale promised, ruffling Derek's hair and making him squawk. "Something with all of us. Promise."

Derek shrugged, then stood up and helped clear the table. Stiles took that as his cue and moved to do the same. He might be less than polite when it came to conversation, but that had more to do with his lack of a verbal filter than anything, and when manners involving being a guest came into play Talia had trained both her boys impeccably.

Once the table was clear it was already almost noon because everyone had slept in and they'd had a late brunch after driving over from the hotel. Grams Hale made sure that Derek and Stiles knew there were plenty of barbeque leftovers and ingredients for making meals from scratch in the fridge, telling them that they could cook anything they wanted while the adults were gone, and just generally making it sound like she thought they were going to starve in the five hours and change that they were going to be home alone.

"For God's sake, Anita, the boys know how to forage for themselves," Papa Hale said in exasperation, ruffling Stiles' hair affectionately. 

When Talia had married Stiles' Dad, the Hales had taken Stiles to be as much their grandson as Derek was, and Stiles appreciated that. Most kids his age might have taken it for granted, but Sties could still remember his Mom and how it had felt to lose her, and he knew how important family could be.

Even when you didn't get along with them, the way he and Derek had been until recently. Or didn't trust them, the way he was pretty sure everyone felt about Peter, himself included.

"We'll be fine, Grams," Derek assured her, actually smiling. He'd been so surly while going through the middle part of his puberty -- when he'd been fourteen through sixteen, in fact; three long years -- and Stiles was as happy as their parents and grandparents to see that he was getting over himself and opening up more.

Stiles wondered if, in any small way, he'd had something to do with that. It had seemed as though Derek's mood had lightened around the same time he'd started being nicer to Stiles....

Well, it was hard to tell what was the cause and what was the symptom. Stiles was just glad to see Derek smiling as though he meant it, and so were their grandparents if the raised brows and return smiles were anything to go by.

Then it was time for everyone to leave, and Stiles felt a little zing of excitement as he hugged his Dad and Mom goodbye. He wasn't hard yet -- thank God, because next he was hugging his grandparents -- but his heart was beating faster and he knew he was flushed.

What? He was getting almost five hours of alone time with Derek! He had the right to be excited!

He gave Peter the side-eye after hugging Papa Hale. Even though Peter was the one directly -- and possibly purposely -- responsible for the alone time with Derek, Stiles wasn't sure he wanted to hug him. 

It might make Derek jealous, which wasn't actually a bad thing because Stiles _liked_ it when Derek got possessive over him, but it would also make Stiles feel squirmy and gross. Because Uncle Peter was doing them a favor but he was still creepy.

"Shake?" he offered, holding out a hand. 

Peter rolled his eyes, smirked at him, and then shook his hand in a way that oh-so-clearly indicated that he was humoring Stiles. 

Hey, whatever, at least he didn't have Peter cooties all over him now. Stiles was wearing another of Derek's long-sleeves shirts -- keeping up the ruse that he'd left his own at home -- but even that wasn't armor against Peter's skeeviness.

Derek managed to avoid hugging Uncle Peter as well by essentially hiding behind his mother, and then it was time for the adults to head out.

"Have fun and don't make a mess," Mom said, kissing Derek's temple and then bending slightly to kiss Stiles' cheek. He was ready for his next growth spurt, he really was. He just _knew_ he was going to be taller than Mom someday. Maybe he'd even end up taller than Derek!

"They can't do both, Talia," Grams chided, smiling affectionately at everyone.

"Well, it's your house," she told her mother, then turned back to her boys and clarified, "Don't break anything, okay?"

Stiles puffed up his chest. "I resent the fact that you were looking right at me when you said that!" he protested, and he even kind of half meant it. But not really, because he knew his track record wasn't the greatest. Between his ADHD and his inherent clumsiness he could occasionally be a menace. And going through puberty had only made things worse as his limbs lengthened more rapidly than his brain could adjust for.

"Uh-huh." Evidently Mom agreed; her eyes were telling him as much. "Do what Derek says, within reason, but don't let him push you around."

"Mom!" Derek squawked indignantly, while all the other adults laughed. Stiles thought it was sound advice... and it wasn't like Mom knew that he _liked_ being pushed around by Derek. Especially when Derek was pushing or dragging him in the direction of the bed or shower.

"Call or text us if you need anything. We'll bring home dinner. Okay?"

"Just go," Derek urged, trying to shoo everyone toward the door. "We'll be fine, and we can entertain ourselves."

Peter smirked at Stiles, and Stiles wrinkled his nose. But then Peter made himself useful, reminding them that they were going to be late if they didn't hurry, and that they couldn't exactly catch up to a train if they missed it.

Stiles thought they probably could, because his Dad could drive faster than a train if he wanted to, but then it occurred to him that there probably wouldn't be any stops at other stations, so Peter was right after all.

Stiles and Derek waved goodbye from the porch, then headed back inside, pausing in the entryway once the front door had closed behind them.

"So what should we do?" Stiles questioned. What he _wanted_ to do was jump on Derek like a monkey and initiate some hot hallway sex, but until they could be certain that their family members were on the train there was a chance, however small, that they might return to the house due to illness or having forgotten something important or _something_ , and there was no way Stiles wanted to get caught in the act.

"We just ate so there's no point even thinking about lunch," Derek said, leading the way back into the kitchen. "But Grams said we could make anything we wanted. So I was thinking... cookies?"

"Hell, yeah," Stiles enthused, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. "Chocolate chip, right?"

"Of course," Derek grunted, opening the fridge and taking out several sticks of butter. "Maybe some snickerdoodles too."

Stiles nodded enthusiastically, diving into the cupboard for the mixing bowls.

"Here," Derek said, once Stiles had emerged and set the recovered bowls on the counter with a clatter, even though he'd tried to be careful. It really was kind of physically impossible for Stiles to not make noise, even when he made an effort.

Stiles turned, took one look at what Derek was holding in one hand, and rolled his eyes. "Really, Derek?"

"Really," Derek replied, moving to loop the strap of the apron he'd been offering to Stiles over Stiles' head himself since he was obviously a control-freak and Stiles obviously hadn't moved fast enough for his control-freaky nature. "You're wearing one of my shirts, remember?"

Stiles snorted, but he couldn't really argue with that logic, especially not when Stiles was pretty much physically incapable of _not_ making a mess of himself while baking. There was just something about all that fluffy, puffy flour... and then dough was really sticky, okay?

Besides... Derek was putting the apron on _for_ him, fingers lingering as they ran over Stiles' body, palms brushing his hips, his expression adorably intent. And once the apron was on, Derek actually rolled up the sleeves of the shirt Stiles was wearing, his hands stilling as he ran the pad of his thumb gently over the bruises ringing Stiles' skinny wrists.

He didn't bring Stiles' wrists up to his face this time, didn't nuzzle them, but Stiles still felt himself begin to harden in his jeans. Probably standing in the grandparents' kitchen, flooded with golden sunlight and filled with happy memories, was not the best time to be popping a boner, but his dick had a mind of its own and it _wanted_ Derek.

Regrettably but probably fortunately, Derek let go of Stiles' wrists and then he put on the frilly apron that Grams kept in the kitchen so that the second person cooking always got stuck with lace and a perky pink pattern. Stiles giggled, reaching out before he thought and running his hand down the front, where it covered Derek's crotch. Completely accidentally... or, well, _mostly_ accidentally.

There was a definite bulge there, but Derek just shoved Stiles lightly in the shoulder and said, "Come on. These cookies aren't going to make themselves."

Stiles sulked a little, but he understood the necessity. They needed to get the cookies baked _first_. By the time they were done they could be _sure_ that the adults were all on the wine tasting train. Also, they would have something to show that they'd been productive while they'd been left alone. _And_ they'd have delicious chocolate chip cookies to eat after all the sex they _were_ going to have. It was win-win-win and it only required a little bit of patience on his part.

"All right," Stiles said, getting the vanilla and almond extracts out of the cupboard. "But you're going to be banging me by the time we finish."

Something crashed loudly behind him and Derek let out a low curse. 

Stiles snickered but continued to collect ingredients. He could see the tips of Derek's ears getting pink as he turned on the oven so that it would be up to temp by the time they were ready, and he was both thrilled and disbelieving that he was able to elicit such an extreme reaction from his older, more experienced stepbrother.

Well, Derek wasn't going to remain more experienced for long. Not if Stiles had anything to say about it. Granted, Derek would always have had _more_ sex than Stiles. But Stiles intended to try everything and do everything, and he intended their joint experience to far outstrip whatever Derek had already done before too much longer.

Stiles intended to try all the sex in all the positions. He could feel his cheeks heating up at the thought, and he still couldn't believe that for some reason Derek was willing to bang him, but he was sure as hell going to take it and run as far as he could go.

"Will you grease the cookie sheets?" Derek asked, setting them on the counter.

Stiles eyeballed his stepbrother suspiciously. "Is this an attempt to keep me out of the cookie dough?" he asked, though he did move to do as requested. "Because if it is, I can tell you right now that it's not going to work."

Derek rolled his eyes, completely predictably. "I don't understand you and Mom's addiction to eating cookie dough," he said disapprovingly. "It's got raw eggs in it. Gross." He shuddered theatrically.

Stiles smirked. "It tastes wonderful," he responded. "And we don't think about that. We just enjoy the gooey goodness."

"But... _raw eggs_ ," Derek said in tones of horror and disgust.

Stiles shrugged. He wasn't going to change Derek's mind, but Derek wasn't going to change his either. Sometimes Stiles knew when to drop a subject. Sometimes. 

Besides, if they stopped talking about eating raw cookie dough, Derek might drop his guard and then Stiles might get a chance to actually _do_ it instead of just talking about it.

"Do you want me to start on some snickerdoodles?" Stiles offered once he was done with the cookie sheets. Neither he nor Derek needed to use any recipes for baking; their mother had been teaching them how ever since they'd been older enough to reach the counter while standing on a stepstool. They could have made chocolate chip cookies and snickerdoodles in their sleep by this point.

Hell, right now Stiles was making cookies while distracted by thoughts of _sex_ , _sex_ , _sex_!

"Sure." Derek ripped open the bag of chocolate chips and poured them into his mixing bowl in a cascade of rich, dark, semi-sweet sugary goodness. "Just be sure you don't forget the cinnamon."

"That was _one_ time, Derek," Stiles protested, grabbing his own bowl and beginning to assemble the ingredients. "Once."

"Without the cinnamon they might as well just be sugar cookies," Derek complained, and now it was Stiles' turn to roll his eyes.

"There's nothing wrong with sugar cookies," he claimed, nose wrinkling with the need to sneeze as he measured the flour a little less than carefully. Okay, so maybe the apron had been a good idea. "After all, they have 'sugar' on their name!"

Derek snorted, mixing the chocolate chips into the bowl with a wooden spoon. "That wasn't what you said when Mom made sugar cookies last month," he said haughtily.

"That's because I was expecting her famous chocolate chunk oatmeal cookies," Stiles informed Derek absently, most of his attention caught up in the flex of Derek's forearm as he stirred. There was a dusting of dark hair on the smooth skin, and the corded muscles shifted in ways that made Stiles' jeans feel way too tight. Stiles wanted to _touch_ , even more than he wanted to sample the delicious dough Derek was working at creating.

"You try dealing with that kind of disappointment and not say something you might not actually mean," Stiles continued, a little breathless, deserting his half-prepared snickerdoodle dough and taking the four steps necessary to bring him into Derek's space.

"What?" Derek questioned, looking a little startled. "Stiles, what are you doing?"

"I wanna...." Stiles lost his words, simply moving to take what he wanted. Derek shifted so that the bowl of dough was out of reach, but that wasn't where Stiles was headed.

"What?" Derek asked again, his thick brows creasing in confusion, as Stiles plastered both his hands to one magnificent forearm.

"How is it fair for you to be this sexy?" Stiles queried, licking his lips. He'd have scowled at Derek, but his face only seemed capable of carrying an expression of hunger right now. Derek was good at glaring sexily but Stiles didn't think he had that skill. 

"Stiles...."

Derek's voice actually sounded a little shaky and he set the bowl on the counter with the hand that Stiles wasn't holding captive. He held still as Stiles brushed his fingers over the dark fuzz on his forearm that had caught and held his attention, then twitched a little as Stiles traced the pad of his thumb over the veins and tense muscles, pressing lightly against the pulse beating under the thin skin of Derek's wrist.

There was flour and sugar dusting Derek's knuckles, and Stiles held onto the wrist he had captured. He didn't squeeze, couldn't have bruised Derek the way Derek had bruised him even if he'd tried, but he did feel out the sharp bones and little hollows between them, taking his time and enjoying the sensation of Derek's smooth skin under his fingertips as much as he was enjoying the way Derek's breathing had picked up, and the way he could very clearly see Derek's growing erection under the pink lace of the apron he was wearing out the corner of his eye.

"Stiles, we're supposed to be making cookies," Derek said, but his voice was husky and he wasn't making any move to pull away, just standing there passively as Stiles explored his forearm and wrist.

"Nothing's in the oven yet," Stiles murmured, plastering his palm to the back of Derek's hand and twining their fingers together. He still had some growing to do before he was as big as Derek, but he'd always had large hands for his age and they fit together pretty well.

"Dammit," Derek cursed and it sounded like surrender to Stiles. He lifted his chin just in time to field a sudden kiss that he expected would be hard and forceful, but which was instead soft and careful. It was no less commanding for all that, though, and Stiles opened his mouth obediently when Derek's tongue sought entry.

They kissed for a little while in the sunlight-flooded kitchen, Stiles still clinging to Derek's arm, their fingers locked together, but otherwise not touching anywhere but their mouths.

"We've got to finish the cookies," Derek informed Stiles breathlessly once he'd finally broken the kiss. Stiles licked tingling lips, staring at the way Derek's lips were red and wet and noticeably plumped from the friction of their kissing. He really loved Derek's mouth... and not just for what it could do to him; it was gorgeous to look at too.

"Or we could have sex now," he offered as a viable alternative.

Derek looked torn between rolling his eyes and agreeing, but in the end he reluctantly pulled his hand away. "Stiles. Cookies."

"Ugh." Stiles let go, reluctantly, then darted for the bowl of dough Derek had left on the counter and scooped up a couple of fingers' worth. "Fine, but you owe me this, then!"

Derek's look of disgust when he realized what Stiles was doing melted into an expression of untethered arousal when Stiles stuck his dough-smeared fingers in his mouth and sucked, making blissful noises.

Stiles realized belatedly what this must look like to his older stepbrother, and he smirked around the fingers he had wedged between his lips, sucking harder. He was now enjoying the way he was turning Derek on just as much as he was enjoying the way the granulated sugar melted on his tongue, the dough all buttery and creamy, yet a little bit crunchy at the same time because the sugar hadn't been cooked into the other ingredients. It was like being in heaven, though if this was _really_ heaven Derek wouldn't be wearing anything other than the frilly pink apron he had on.

Still, Derek _was_ wearing the frilly pink apron, and it did nothing to disguise the hard-on Stiles was giving him, and the raw dough tasted delicious on Stiles' tongue.

The cookie dough was gone, even the chocolate chips that had been in his clumsy finger-scoop having melted away, before Stiles finally slid his damp fingers out of his mouth. Completely aside from the look on Derek's face, Stiles just felt better when he was sucking on something. He'd woken up that morning with his thumb in his mouth; thankfully rousing earlier than Derek and sliding it out before his stepbrother saw.

Though Stiles had to wonder if Derek would be grossed out if he caught him sucking his thumb like a baby... or if he might be turned on. He certainly seemed to like it when Stiles sucked on other things.

Stiles was a little mesmerized by the way the warm early afternoon sunlight was shining in Derek's clear eyes. He still couldn't pin down what color they were -- mostly he thought of them as being hazel, sometimes they were more green, sometimes more blue, and sometimes they were almost gold -- but right now what mattered was that Derek was _looking_ at him.

Still maintaining eye contact, Derek reached over toward the counter. Stiles wasn't sure what he was doing, not even when he scooped up a generous dollop of the cookie dough himself, but then Derek's fingers were pressed to Stiles' lower lip and he automatically opened his mouth, and figured out pretty quickly what Derek had in mind.

If his mouth hadn't been full, Stiles might have mocked Derek for feeding him dough containing raw eggs. But it was kind of the point that his mouth was full, and Stiles set to sucking greedily on Derek's fingers; not to get the delicious flavor of sugar and chocolate, but because _Derek had his fingers in his mouth_. Stiles couldn't have not sucked, even if sucking hadn't been what Derek had wanted.

And since it was so very obvious that Derek _wanted_ Stiles to suck on his fingers... well, that just made this all the sweeter. And not because of the granulated sugar and chocolate.

Derek's expression had gone kind of blank but at the same time his gaze had become very sharp, his eyes focused on the working of Stiles' lips around his fingers, and Stiles could feel heat flooding his cheeks and chubbing his semi up to full hardness in his pants at the undisguised hunger he could see there.

He sucked more vigorously, moaning shamelessly around his stepbrother's fingers, one hand wrapping around Derek's forearm again and the other going down to his own crotch to rub at his erection through the triple shield of the apron he had on, his jeans, and his underwear.

That was way too much material, but it still felt amazing and he moaned again, sucking harder by instinct, not even in an effort to turn Derek on.

It worked to turn Derek on more, though, Stiles could tell even before he opened eyes that he hadn't realized he had closed. Once he was looking at Derek, he could see the way his older stepbrother's high cheekbones were deeply flushed, his cute white bunny-teeth showing between parted lips, his gaze somehow even more fixed on Stiles when that wouldn't have seemed possible.

Stiles licked at Derek's fingers as he slowly removed them, able to taste the salt of his flesh once the sugar was gone. He was sad to feel them leave his mouth, though he did like the way Derek trailed the pads of his fingertips over Stiles' lower lip, smearing saliva and the last of the dough over its swell.

"You--" 

It didn't seem as though Derek had any idea of how to finish that sentence, but that was okay, because he replaced his fingers with his own lips again, and they were kissing before Stiles even realized he'd been roped into Derek's arms and tugged up against his chest.

Stiles locked his fingers around the lace-lined straps of the apron Derek was wearing, rising up on tip-toe, sliding his tongue into Derek's mouth, tangling it with Derek's own. He could have teased Derek that he was getting a taste of the dreaded raw cookie dough after all, but that would have required breaking their kiss and Stiles wasn't prepared to do that.

Derek didn't seem to have any compunctions, as he lifted his head and pushed Stiles away a little. Stiles whined when they broke apart, but then aprons were being untied and stripped off and then they... well, then they both wound up in a very compromising and very promising position.

And Stiles definitely wasn't going to complain about that.

+=+=+

If he was completely honest, Derek wasn't quite sure how he ended up sitting on one of the kitchen table chairs, jeans and underwear pooled around his ankles, Stiles between his spread legs, knees cushioned on Derek's jeans... but he was pretty sure that raw cookie dough and Stiles' sweet red sucking mouth had been involved.

That mouth was still very much involved, as Stiles' plushy, plump lips closed around the head of Derek's straining cock, nursing at the blunt tip, causing Derek to rumble out a surprised and almost agonized groan. His stomach muscles tightened, his hands clenched on the seat of the chair to either side of him in an attempt to retrain himself from pulling on Stiles' hair.

He felt a little delirious, lost in a haze of overwhelming pleasure, his balls already drawn up tight, his hard-on throbbing and jumping in Stiles' grip. Stiles' mouth was wet and hot and he sucked at Derek as though he was desperate for it, as though it was the best thing he had ever tasted.

Stiles pulled off with a wet pop and Derek was torn between staring at him avidly -- that bruised wet mouth and those flushed cheeks and his molten brown eyes -- and dragging his head back down onto his aching cock.

"You can grab my hair," Stiles said, and it sounded as though he actually _wanted_ Derek to do it. "It's okay, Derek, I trust you."

"But I don't trust me," Derek ground out, his knuckles flexing as he clutched at the chair more tightly. Stiles was stroking the shaft of his cock with his clever fingers and his chin was slick with saliva and probably not a little precome, and Derek just wanted Stiles to _suck him off already_.

Stiles rolled his eyes, the little shit, then bent back down and took Derek's hard-on into his hungry mouth again.

Derek loosed a crackling, rattling groan and his hips jerked, wanting to leave the chair, to flex up and _thrust_ into Stiles' mouth. Thankfully he was at the wrong angle to move that way, or else he might have choked his stepbrother.

Stiles pulled off again and Derek wanted to _kill_ him.

"Don't freak out, okay?" Stiles said, which should have concerned Derek, but he was more focused on how Stiles was now stroking his inner thighs with tacky hands, leaving his erection twitching and aching and chilled from the lack of attention. "I want to try something."

Derek was a little worried by these words, he had to be honest, because they were usually followed by something getting broken or Stiles getting hurt, or both. 

But then Stiles was sucking his cock again and he kind of forgot to be worried as pleasure and arousal surging through him, drowning all his thoughts and overwhelming his mind.

"Oh. Fuck," he managed to choke out brokenly, and if he could have pried his fingers free of the chair he probably _would_ have grabbed Stiles' head at this point, but they felt like they were stuck the way they were, all of his body beyond his control, everything that he had and everything he was fixated on the heat and suction of Stiles' mouth.

And then Stiles shifted up higher on his knees, squared his shoulders, his fingers digging into the softness of Derek's inner thighs, and he _slid down Derek's cock_ , the head dragging over the flat, soft bed of his tongue until it bumped up against the back of Stiles' throat.

Stiles made a little gagging sound when he did this that Derek could barely hear through the rushing of blood in his ears, over his pounding pulse, and he pulled back immediately, but before Derek could pull his broken brain together enough to tell Stiles not to hurt himself, Stiles had shifted into what he evidently felt was an even better position, and was going down on him again.

This wasn't quite deep-throating, Derek thought hazily as he did his best not to writhe where he was seated, pinned down by Stiles' mouth and the pleasure it was giving him and his desire to _not_ hurt his stepbrother, but it was so much more than just a simple suck-job. 

Stiles had just taken their blowjobs to the next level and Derek was reaping the benefits, oh God, was he benefitting!

"I've been practicing," Stiles said hoarsely, pulling off long enough to speak and grin briefly, but then plunging back down onto Derek's throbbing cock before Derek could begin to think about replying. 

If he could even have managed to form words, which was highly questionable at this point.

Part of Derek wanted to know _how_ Stiles had been practicing, but most of his attention was on the results of said practice, his entire body thrumming with pleasure as Stiles went down on him, further and further each time, taking more of his hard cock in his mouth, his head bobbing in Derek's lap with growing steadiness as he got used to his task, his hands busy and demanding. Since he was swallowing down more of the shaft of Derek's cock than he'd been able to manage before, that freed up Stiles fingers to do... _other_ things. Which he did.

Derek was fixated on the tight, hot, wet sensation of Stiles sucking on his erection, taking him deeper with each dip of his head, and maybe by this point it _was_ deep-throating. But the fingers sinking into his pubes and kneading at the sensitive skin there, just above the root of his cock, added to the pleasure. As did the other hand, cupping and playing with his balls.

It was when Stiles ventured behind his nuts, though, fingertips prodding at his taint with deliberate pressure, as if Stiles knew what he was doing and was doing it on purpose, that Derek let out a throttled shout and splashed his load all down Stiles' throat, coating his tongue when Stiles pulled back, throat working as he swallowed.

Derek watched with heavily-lidded eyes as Stiles licked his crimson lips, wiping his sloppy mouth and chin off with one hand and wrist, his own gaze dark and heated as he closed his other hand around Derek's over-sensitized cock. It was a little too intense, but Stiles' fingers were warm and kept his cock from getting chilled as it slowly began to soften.

"Awesome," Stiles rasped, his voice coming out low and hoarse, and Derek's hard-on twitched even though he was spent, reacting to the way Stiles sounded after something that had been so close to deep-throating that he might just as well call it that.

And Stiles was the one who thought that it had been awesome... amazing!

Derek wanted to say something, wanted to praise Stiles, wanted to offer to return the favor, but all he could manage for the moment was lifting a hand that had finally come loose from where he'd been gripping the chair and sinking his fingers into Stiles' thick hair. His own chest was still heaving as he struggled to catch his breath, and he watched with mingled affection and frustration as Stiles rested his head against one of his thighs, raising his eyes to smile up at Derek with pressure-swollen lips.

Affection because he genuinely cared about Stiles and thought that he looked fucking adorable at the same time he looked fucked-out. And frustration because he wanted to suck Stiles off in turn but was still too out of it to make the effort, or even the offer, since words were a little beyond him right now.

"It's okay," Stiles assured him, as though he was reading Derek's mind. He nuzzled the soft skin of the inside of Derek's thigh, his cheek flushed hot and lightly dewed with sweat, his thumb toying gently with Derek's foreskin as his cock became flaccid once more. "I'm not in a hurry."

Derek snorted, recovered enough for that, and tightened his fingers in Stiles' hair. "Since when?" he croaked out. And why was _his_ voice so raspy when it had been Stiles who'd been taking Derek's cock into his throat?

Stiles smirked, looking like sex personified, especially with Derek's hand still sunk in his hair, still resting on his head. "Since I'm about to jizz in my pants and need a minute to calm down so it won't happen if I so much as twitch," he replied candidly. "I didn't bring a change of underwear."

Derek chuckled, a little surprised by this answer but not really, He palmed Stiles' head more firmly. "All right," he said, not that Stiles needed any approbation. "So once you can move without coming, how about you let me pull my pants up and then I'll see if I can't get you off without too much of a mess."

Stiles nodded vigorously, already letting go of Derek's cock and letting himself fall backward onto his ass on the kitchen floor. Derek missed the bold, possessive grip Stiles had been maintaining on his cock, but it was probably for the best, he acknowledged as he stood and reached down to tug up his underwear and jeans. 

He could hear the oven ticking quietly to itself as it maintained its heat and there were bowls of raw and half-finished cookie dough just sitting there on the counter, waiting....

Mostly, though, Derek was concerned with the painful-looking bulge in Stiles' jeans, the denim stretched taut over his crotch. He could see a damp spot of precome staining the material and he kind of thought it was already too late for Stiles to avoid making a mess of his underwear. But then again, there was a big difference between pre-ejaculate and jizz, as all teenage boys knew, especially when it came to the state of their underwear.

Derek tucked his junk back into his boxer-briefs, pulled his jeans up over his ass, and fastened the fly. His cock and balls were still tingling and he swore he could feel a phantom echo of the prodding of Stiles' fingertips behind them. He... he liked that, though. 

He felt sated, filled with pleasure, replete, but he also wanted to make sure that he made Stiles feel as good as Stiles had made him feel.

Derek looked down. Down, down, down, to where Stiles was sprawled on the floor, resting back on his elbows, legs spread wide, staring up at him. Despite his expression of hunger and the way he'd absolutely known what he'd been doing when he'd blown Derek just now, Derek still thought that Stiles looked small and vulnerable like this. 

It made him feel equal parts predatory and protective, both at once. As though he wanted to debauch Stiles but at the same time he wanted to make sure that no one else ever did....

Which really should have made Derek feel like a pervert, he was well aware, but Stiles had explicitly said that he trusted him. Derek would live up to that trust... _and_ he would get Stiles off.

"Derek," Stiles croaked, not making any move to rise or even sit, his eyes burning as he stared up, and Derek grinned wolfishly as he knelt, being careful of how his seams pressed against his own still-sensitive cock, but more focused on Stiles' hard-on.

"I've got you," he murmured, kneeling between Stiles' obscenely sprawled legs and then crawling over top of him with fierce intent, his eyes fixed on Stiles' talented mouth and shiny red lips. It almost sounded more like a threat than a promise, but that seemed to be all good with Stiles, if the way his gaze went hazy and the way his tempting mouth fell open were any indication.

His cheeks were burning a fiery red, there was a gleam of perspiration at his temples, and if he glanced down Derek could see both the dark rings of bruises ringing Stiles' bony wrists where the sleeves of his borrowed shirt were still rolled up and the eager swelling in his jeans.

Stiles couldn't have made a more tempting picture if he'd been trying, and Derek might have intended to take his time, but that notion went right out of his head when his hands went to Stiles' fly and Stiles basically arched up into this slightest of contact with an instinctive little sound of entreaty.

Derek made quick work of Stiles' fly, reaching into his jeans and underwear and pulling his throbbing hard-on free, and then he made even quicker work of taking Stiles into his mouth.

It gave Derek a sense of pride that he was able to take Stiles down nearly to the base of his cock before he had to stop in order to prevent himself from choking. He _hadn't_ been practicing, so he couldn't risk triggering his gag reflex -- that _wouldn't_ be sexy -- but he did manage to suck down almost all of Stiles' cock despite the fact that he was generously-sized for a thirteen year old.

"Oh!" Stiles gasped in surprise or maybe just pleasure, jerking underneath Derek, curling up and in toward him, fingers sinking into his hair, thighs coming in to clamp tightly around Derek's chest. "Oh my God, Derek!"

It didn't really take long after that for Derek to bring Stiles to climax, but the kid had been all wound up from the blowjob he'd given Derek, so it only made sense that he popped off quickly. Derek felt a little disappointed that he didn't have more of a chance to work that fat cock that fit so well in his mouth, but he couldn't begrudge Stiles his climax.

When Stiles shot off all over his tongue, Derek took what he had to give. It kind of seemed wrong to swallow his younger stepbrother's load on the floor of their grandparents' kitchen... but it would have been even more wrong not to.

Once Stiles was spent, Derek maneuvered them around and down so that they were spooning where they were, Stiles tucked safely into Derek's larger body.

Okay, so the kitchen floor was _not_ the best place to cuddle -- it was hard and chilly despite the sunny warmth of the day -- but it was where they ended up. Derek was curled protectively around Stiles, nose buried in his hair, arms wrapped around his belly, just breathing and feeling Stiles' bony back move against his chest as he breathed as well.

"You like that, don't you," Derek said hoarsely, not even really a question.

Stiles grunted in what he chose to interpret as a query, and Derek nosed his way behind his ear. 

"You like giving head," he whispered, as though it was a secret he was imparting, as though Stiles wasn't already aware of that fact.

Stiles shuddered, squirming back into the curve of Derek's body, his little ass wriggling tantalizingly against his crotch. "Well, yeah," he sighed, sounding fucked out and happy. "Doesn't everyone?"

Derek snorted, amused by this naivety. "Not everyone," he replied honestly.

Stiles tensed a little and shifted as he tried to turn and look at Derek. "You don't like it?" he asked in a small voice, because of course he would jump right to the wrong conclusion. "You didn't have to--"

"No, it's fine," Derek hurried to assure him. He hadn't meant to make Stiles feel insecure, honestly hadn't meant himself. "I like it, I do," he stumbled, arms tightening around Stiles so that he couldn't escape. "I mean, not as much as you, obviously. But I like it."

Stiles was silent, making Derek worry, but he just seemed to be processing. "I really like it," he finally said, the words low and intense. "Like, really, really a lot. I feel better when I have something in my mouth."

"Obviously," Derek murmured, not even trying to hide his smirk. It wasn't like Stiles could see him anyway. Though he could probably hear it in his voice.

"No, I mean..." Stiles squirmed a little more, in what Derek could tell was arousal. "I have to have my fingers in my mouth when I jerk off. But that's not enough. I like to suck on _big_ things."

Derek chuckled, amused and really turned on. "I guess it's good that I have a big thing, then."

Stiles elbowed him, sharp and bony, but he was laughing at the same time. "Dork!"

"You're the dork," Derek replied, nuzzling Stiles' neck and rubbing at his flat belly.

"You're a bigger dork," Stiles shot back, though he melted into the manhandling. "Hey, did you know that a dork is a whale penis? Speaking of huge dicks...."

"Oh my God, seriously?" Derek pulled away and stood, causing Stiles to squall in distress before Derek reached down and dragged his younger stepbrother to his feet as well. 

"Are you actively trying to kill the mood?" Derek groused, though he kept a possessive hand on Stiles' shoulder and watched intently while he tucked his cock away and zipped himself up. 

"What?" Stiles looked up at him with an open mouth. He made one hell of a picture, with wet lips and flushed cheeks and messy hair and Derek really wanted to debauch him all over again. "No way, are you kidding? Talking about penises is killing the mood?"

Derek scoffed, though he could remember being thirteen and finding everything sexual. Hell, he was only seventeen and still felt that way most of the time. Not when it came to Cetacean genitalia, though. 

"It is when you compare me unfavorably to another penis," he said, even though the knew this was only going to encourage Stiles on his tangent.

"Hey, you should be flattered that I had to choose the biggest animal that has ever lived to compare your dick to!" Stiles informed him. He sounded snotty, but he was grinning up at Derek, clearly amused. Then he switched into science mode. "Blue whales are even bigger than any of the dinosaurs ever were, did you know that?"

Derek sighed and rolled his eyes. "Yes, Stiles, I did know that. Now, let's get back to making cookies."

"Aw." Stiles' face fell. "I wanted to bang again."

Derek quirked a brow. "Well, I _was_ thinking about dragging you into the shower and showing you what rimming was... but then you started talking about whale penises."

Stiles looked both devastated and intrigued at once, his cheeks going red and blotchy. "I know what rimming is," he said, his voice small and wobbling a little but he didn't look traumatized.... "Derek!"

Derek surmised from the way Stiles moved closer to him and clutched at his shirt that Stiles was into the idea, not disgusted by it. Still, he had to be sure.

"You want to try it?" 

"Oh my God." Derek caught Stiles as his knees seemed to go weak and he fell against him. "Yes, please, now, Derek, please?"

"Cookies," Derek reminded.

"Fuck the cookies!" Stiles yelped indignantly, his voice going even more squeaky.

Derek laughed, unable to help himself even though there was the danger that Stiles might think he was laughing at him. "I'd rather fuck you," he said, before Stiles could take offense, speaking in full honesty. "But _after_ we finish making the cookies."

"Dang it," Stiles huffed, adorable as he completely failed at swearing. "Okay...."

Since Stiles' idea of "making cookies" currently seem to mean checking his phone, Derek put on the regular apron and left Stiles the frilly one. He hadn't actually minded wearing it, had no reason to feel emasculated or insecure -- hell, his grandfather wore it half the time, as did his stepfather, Peter being the only one who made a fuss about doing so -- but he really wanted to see Stiles in pink and lace.

Anyway, turnabout was fair play, right? And it was Derek's job as an older brother to do this sort of thing. At least, he was pretty sure....

"Hey, look, Uncle Peter posted pictures from the train, and everyone is in them!" Stiles said, holding his phone out for Derek to view. Evidently Stiles had thought that FaceBook was more important than the snickerdoodle dough he was halfway through mixing up.

"So?" Derek asked, scowling at the smarmy smirk on his uncle's face as he took a group selfie. Which, yes, had himself, their parents, and the grandparents all in it. They all seemed to be having a good enough time, despite the short notice. Then again, wine was involved.

" _So_?" Stiles turned wide brown eyes on him. "So? Duh, Derek, that means we know they're safely on the train and we know we have almost five hours to ourselves. To fuck!"

Derek could feel his cheeks heat up as that word spilled blunt and evocative over Stiles red lips, which were still slightly swollen from giving him head.

"Well, yeah," he said gruffly. "I mean, if they haven't already come home we could just as well have assumed that they got on the train."

Stiles rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. "Okay, point. But now we _know_ know."

Derek nodded. The potential for getting caught hadn't added anything to their recent sex, he thought, the way it evidently excited some people. To be honest, it hadn't even crossed his mind and he was glad it hadn't. If anything, the danger of getting caught would have killed his boner, not made him more turned on.

"Derek!" Stiles yelped, suddenly realizing he'd been left with the frilly apron. He held it up, looking far more appalled than was actually necessary.

"Put it on," Derek said firmly, then grinned when Stiles' ears went pink. He liked the way Stiles liked being ordered around and roughly handled. By him. No one else, though. No one else was allowed to manhandle his stepbrother.

Derek almost thought he might have to put it on for Stiles the way he had done the other apron before their baking venture had devolved into an exchange of blowjobs. He was actually a little disappointed when that didn't become necessary, and Stiles put it on as instructed. 

But it was good enough seeing Stiles prance around in pink and lace as he pulled himself together and got back to his snickerdoodle dough. It just made Derek want to bang him more.

Not that this was anything that Derek didn't want anyway. Not that it wasn't _going_ to happen.

But they had cookies to make first. Because Derek had said so and since he'd been the one to say so, he couldn't go back on that.

Dang it.

+=+=+

Stiles was a horny thirteen year old with a very active imagination and a fixation on his older stepbrother, and yet he had never, even in his wildest fantasies, thought that he would ever end up in the shower with Derek's tongue in his butthole.

He'd read about rimming, of course he had. There weren't many sexual positions or practices Stiles hadn't looked into. He'd done some of this on the internet at the McCall house, even though he hadn't had the time or opportunity to look in-depth on that source. 

And for the gaps in his knowledge... well, Stiles knew there were other ways of gaining knowledge, for all he was a child of his age and tended to use Google and Wiki as easily as breathing, and the sex-help books in the adult nonfiction section of the Public Library were perfectly explicit about what to do and what to expect. Stiles was pretty sure that by now he'd tracked down and read all of them. He hadn't checked any of them out, had put them carefully back on the shelves where he had gotten them once he was done, but he'd definitely educated himself.

The point being that Stiles had known about rimming and had been a little weirded-out but also excited by the idea of it. He'd never thought he'd actually experience it, though, and he'd really, really never thought that Derek might actually _do_ it.

It was even more amazing than Stiles might have imagined, if he _had_ imagined, which he hadn't, but he should have done.

He'd known about his oral fixation and because of that he'd anticipated that he would like sucking guys off... and he'd been right. He'd been sure that getting blown would be even more pleasurable than jerking himself off, and he'd been so _very_ right about that. 

But he'd never really touched himself _back there_ while masturbating, except a few times when he'd been rubbing his perineum and his fingers had slipped in the lube, stuttering over the little bud of muscle and clenched tight flesh. It had felt good when it had happened, had made Stiles tingle in ways he didn't think his butthole should make him feel, but he'd never lingered, always in a hurry to get himself off in a more conventional manner.

Derek was lingering. Derek was lingering over his anus with broad sweeps of his tongue and deliberate prodding, and Stiles thought he was going to start sobbing and clawing at the shower walls any moment, he was so turned on.

It just felt so damned good.

The shower was hot and steamy, the water pressure just right, the nozzle set to a wide spray that covered both of them in cascading warmth. Derek had taken the time to thoroughly clean Stiles' _back there_ before he'd gone anywhere near his butthole with his mouth, and that in itself had been a strange, slippery, invasive sort of pleasure. 

Just Derek's fingers rubbing against him had felt incredible, had felt big and solid against the delicate skin, slick and sudsy with soap, and pressing up a little way inside without any real effort and only the tiniest bit of discomfort on Stiles' part. This discomfort had been overwhelmed by the toe-curling pleasure by such a huge amount that it had actually only added to the experience, not taken away from it at all.

And that had been _before_ Derek had turned Stiles around and pressed him up against the wall and then knelt down behind him. After all the soap had been washed away and Stiles had been squeaky clean, Derek had stuck his face right into his crack, licking away as though it was something that he desperately _wanted_.

God, if just Derek's tongue and one finger felt this amazing, how was it going to feel when he put his dick inside of Stiles?

Stiles couldn't really fathom that right now, though, all of his attention focused on the sensations that Derek worked to drag out of him. He whined low and needy, his back arched as he pushed back into the sloppy kisses Derek was giving his butthole, his legs spread wide, and his chest, cheek, and hands plastered to the water drenched wall in front of him.

Everything was humid and hot, from the air around him to Derek's cheeks between his cheeks -- hah! -- but most of all the licking tongue that moved over his skin with so much confidence that Stiles had to wonder whether Derek had done this before.

Stiles was pretty sure Derek hadn't done this before, but he wasn't about to ask. Not now and not later. Especially not right now, because right now Stiles was suspended in the moment, in a welter of agonizing pleasure that was so intense his brain didn't even know what to do with everything he was experiencing.

Stiles whined, his dick jerking, drooling precome -- he could feel it even if he couldn't see it -- his eyes screwed shut and his face lifted a little where he had it pressed to the shower wall. Derek's hands were holding his butt cheeks open, but when Stiles' hips jerked, one of them slid free and went between his thighs and forward to cup and caress his balls, fingertips brushing against the base of his aching erection.

"Oh my God," Stiles gasped, a little surprised that he was able to form words, not at all surprised that his voice came out strangled and thick, almost unintelligible.

He could feel the faintest scratching of Derek's stubble against the insides of his butt cheeks, because Derek's had forgotten to shave that morning, and it contrasted intensely with the soft lapping of his tongue, making Stiles shudder, making his skin feel hot and a little too tight, filled to bursting with pleasure.

Now Derek was palming his balls, fingers stroking the base of his dick in a really awkward way that was more teasing than anything else, but most of Stiles' focus was on his throbbing anus and how Derek was practically making out with it in a way that was super bizarre but also crazy hot at the same time.

Then Derek took his hot-wet licking mouth away and Stiles whined high in his throat, thrusting his butt desperately backward. 

"Now, normally," Derek said in conversational tones, and Stiles gasped as he worked one finger into the tight clench of his hole, "Normally I'd need lube to do this. But we're in a hot shower with lots of water and I've licked you open. So I can do this, even without lube."

"Oh my God," Stiles garbled, holding still and breathing hard as he adjusted to the feeling of having what he was pretty sure was Derek's entire finger inside him. It felt huge, even though he knew that Derek's hands were more elegant and graceful than big, and he clenched around it involuntarily, feeling his butthole pulse in time with the small abortive thrusts that his hips were making.

"You're so hot inside," Derek murmured, and now he sounded turned on instead of just normal, and Stiles could feel his cheek resting against one of his butt cheeks, no doubt watching what his hand was doing. "So hot and so soft in here."

Stiles whined again, pelvis swaying in circles, as Derek pulled his finger out partway before pushing it carefully back in. He wanted Derek to fuck it in and out, hard and fast, wanted more than one finger in there, wanted Derek's tongue back in there, wanted Derek's dick in there....

"Hush," Derek said, because Stiles had broken and said most of this out loud, reduced to begging, and he shifted where he was kneeling behind Stiles. "I've got you."

Derek didn't use more than the one finger, but he continued to slide it in and out, which burned a little even with the saliva and shower water, and he reached up further so that he could hold onto Stiles' erection properly with his other hand, and then he was licking all around the tight muscle clenched around his intrusive finger, and within less than a minute, within a few rubs of the hand clasped tightly around Stiles' dick, he'd managed to bring Stiles to the edge of climax and sent him tumbling over.

Stiles wasn't ashamed to say that he sort of collapsed at this point. It had been one of _the_ most intense and overwhelming orgasms of his life, and he'd been having a lot of orgasms in the last few years with himself, and especially in the last day, since he and Derek had started making each other come.

Thankfully Derek was there to catch Stiles; literally as well as figuratively when he sank into a boneless heap of quivering limbs. 

Stiles was only foggily aware of where their bodies were, but he knew that he was being cradled in Derek's arms, and Derek's face was buried in his throat, his skin burning, his breath breaking hard and damp on the skin there as he panted rapidly, one arm jerking as he brought himself off, and Stiles was a little ashamed that he wasn't actively helping with that, but Derek had kind of wrecked him with the rimming and the finger-fucking, so it was kind of Derek's own fault that Stiles was incapacitated.

"Fuck," Derek groaned, going still, and Stiles could feel the head of his dick, pressed against his hip, could feel the flaring of its slit and the blurt of burning hot semen hitting and sliding down his skin, and he was happy that Derek had come on him even if he hadn't really helped make it happen.

They curled together on the floor of the shower stall, catching their breath -- which was harder in the steam-filled air -- and recovering from their climaxes. Stiles' butt felt empty now, which was a _really_ strange feeling, but it had been worth it to have Derek's finger in there, and he wanted to know what it would be like if they used lube and Derek got two or even three fingers in there....

"Oh, God, my ass is going numb sitting on this floor," Derek groaned, shifting and unceremoniously shoving Stiles off his lap. "Let's get out of here before the water goes cold."

Stiles grumbled a little but didn't actually complain as he and Derek both rose to their feet. Just a couple of seconds on his butt on the floor and he knew what Derek was talking about. It was a testament to how turned on Derek had been, he thought, that he'd spent so long on his knees while eating Stiles out. Because there was nothing soft or giving about the shower floor he'd been kneeling on.

"That's why people usually have sex on a bed," he hazarded, as Derek lifted his face into the water one last time to rinse, before shutting the shower off, but he was kind of distracted from what he was saying by the picture that Derek made.

Derek was gloriously naked and soaking wet. His bangs were flat on his forehead and his body hair was matted to his skin, his nipples hardening as the air immediately chilled once the hot water was gone, his dick only partially flaccid, the red tip peering out of the foreskin, shiny and slick with just a little bit of semen. The muscles of his thighs and his hard abs and perfect pectorals took Stiles' breath away, literally, and made him wonder if he'd ever in a million years be able to look as hot as Derek did.

Probably not, he decided, but he didn't really care as long as he got to _look at Derek_.

"We should go have sex on a bed," Stiles added, swallowing thickly and moving to press his body against Derek's, hands wandering over all the muscles he'd just been staring at. It felt even better than it looked, and Stiles wanted more fucking, even though they'd both just come.

"We... we can't..." Derek said, but he didn't sound completely certain and he wrapped his arms around Stiles and held him close even though they both really ought to get into some towels and get dried off.

Stiles grinned impishly, because he knew better. "Oh, yes, we can."

+=+=+

"I really don't want to do this on Peter's bed," Derek made known, but considering that Stiles was already _on_ the bed in question, it was only a token protest at best.

It wasn't as though they had much of a choice, as Stiles had pointed out. They couldn't fuck in the living room, because what if they jizzed on the sofa? Derek's beleaguered brain wouldn't even let him entertain the _notion_ of screwing his younger stepbrother in their grandparents' bed. That was not an option. And if they made a mess of the empty guest room it would be too obvious. Either they'd leave behind rumpled, sex-stained sheets or else they'd have to launder said sheets and make the bed again, and their grandmother would be able to tell, because no matter how hard they tried, _no one_ could make a bed as neatly as Grams could.

Peter's bed, on the other hand, was already messy. It was still unmade, smelled of sweat and semen even after only a couple of nights, and the fact that Derek was going to be grinding Stiles into the mattress that his uncle had almost definitely masturbated on wasn't quite enough to turn Derek off... though it came damned close.

Honestly, Derek was doing his best not to think about the reality that this was the bed Peter was sleeping in while he visited. An effort that might have been easier if not for Stiles, who had shamelessly flopped down on the bed already where Derek was still hovering awkwardly beside it and seemed perfectly wiling to make himself at home, naked on the sheets that Peter had slept in.

"Ooh, look!" Stiles reached over and snatched up the lube that Peter evidently had no qualms about leaving sitting out on the bedside stand in plain sight. Well, if Grams and Papa Hale were smart -- and they were -- they wouldn't set foot in this room while Peter was in residence.

"Oh my God, put that down!" Derek snapped. He felt deeply conflicted. On the one hand Stiles was waving lube around, but on the other hand... well, it was _Peter's_ lube. And Derek knew exactly why it had been sitting there, right next to the bed, because why else would it be there?

"Nope." Stiles scooting further up onto the bed in all his naked glory, lube in hand, cock already half hard again, and a blush to his cheeks that made Derek want to kiss him stupid. "We're gonna _use_ this."

Derek caved. It might have had something to do with how Stiles' lean arms and legs sprawled over the rumpled sheets, or how his drying hair was a wild, sexy mess, or how his lips were red and his open mouth was moist and tempting.

"All right," Derek agreed, crawling up onto the bed after Stiles and plucking the lube out of his hand. If he was going to do this, he was going to do this right. And communication was key to compatibility during sex. "What do you want me to do with it?" he asked wickedly.

Stiles' face flooded with richer color and his mouth gaped more widely before clapping shut.

"Do you want me to spoon you and jerk you off?" Derek suggested, pressing Stiles back into the pillows and hovering over his prone body, not touching him anywhere except one shoulder, which he palmed with the hand not still holding onto the lube.

Stiles licked his lips and his eyes were bright, but he shook his head.

"Well, then," Derek pursued, "Do you want me to get you all wet and screw in between your legs again?"

"I...." Stiles wiggled a little and actually whimpered, reaching up and ringing his arms around Derek's neck and shoulders. "Y-yeah, kinda," he admitted breathlessly. "That was hot. But that's not what I...."

"Then what?" Derek asked, raising his brows and trying not to grin. He had an inkling of what Stiles wanted him to do with the lube -- far more than an inkling, in fact -- but he needed to hear him say it. Mostly because it was important to be sure he was doing exactly what Stiles wanted, but also because it was kind of turning him on to make Stiles literally squirm like this. 

Not to mention how much he wanted to hear the actual words come spilling out of that tempting mouth.

"I want...." Stiles licked his lips, and it took all of Derek's self restraint not to swoop in and claim his mouth, to wait for him to finish talking. "I want your f-fingers... in my butt again."

And that was the point at which Derek let himself sink down on top of Stiles, pressing his body into the mattress with his own larger form, and slanted their mouths together in order to kiss him until they had to break to breathe.

"If that's what you want," Derek said, nuzzling up under Stiles' bony jaw, pressing delicate kisses to the thin skin there as he tilted his head back obediently, "Then I can definitely do that."

"Only if you want to," Stiles said, sounding soft and vague, reminding Derek of their exchange on the kitchen floor, and he levered back up to meet Stiles' eyes. Which were heavy-lidded and hot with lust, and Derek loved that he was able to make his stepbrother look like that.

"Stiles," he said patiently, gaze hungrily running over the flushed cheeks and parted red lips and smoldering brown eyes before him, "I was the one who suggested eating your ass out, remember? So if you ask me to finger-bang you, you should know that I'm more than happy to do it."

Stiles' cheeks were blazing, but he looked as much turned on as embarrassed, and if he wanted Derek's fingers in his ass then he should be able to talk about it happening.

Well, if he was perfectly honest, Derek hadn't been this forthright where sex was concerned any of the times he'd had it with people who weren't Stiles. When he'd been with his previous partners it had just sort of happened... both of them engaging in somewhat clumsy fumbling in his car, or in an empty classroom, or in someone else's bedroom....

But with Stiles, Derek wanted to make sure he did things right. And he also liked hearing the filthy suggestions that came tumbling out of Stiles' mouth from time to time, shocking in their bluntness but incredibly arousing as well, or maybe _because_.

"If you want me to rim you again," Derek added, "Let me know now, because once you're lubed up I'm not licking you out. Lube tastes gross."

Stiles nodded enthusiastically. "Definitely gross," he said, and he just looked so adorable with his bangs drying flat on his forehead and his nose wrinkled. Derek was amused that Stiles knew what lube tasted like, but they were both healthy young males who used it to jerk off and Stiles was admittedly orally fixated, so it wasn't really surprising.

"I don't really need that," Stiles said, then hurried to add, "Not that it wasn't amazing and I'd love to do it again. But I kind of...."

Derek smirked as Stiles squirmed underneath him, and ringed one of Stiles' wrists with the hand not holding the lube, squeezing just a little, not bruising but triggering the bruises that he'd already left there. He enjoyed the way this made Stiles' mouth fall open, his breathing heavier, his eyes dark and hazy.

"You kind of...?" Derek prompted when Stiles quit talking.

Stiles sucked in a deep breath, his chest pressing against Derek's, and he wanted to pay some attention to those cute little girly nipples, he really did, but first he needed Stiles to answer him.

"I already said it," Stiles whined, wiggling underneath him. "I want your fingers in my butthole. More than one this time. That's what the lube is for, right?"

Derek chuckled, startled into amusement by Stiles' cranky demands as much as his words. Not to mention turned on by them.

"I can do that," he husked. He hadn't expected Stiles to be so into fingering, but it definitely wasn't a bad thing, was definitely a good thing. And Derek wanted very much to give Stiles what he wanted.

Derek was totally going to ignore the fact that he was doing it with his uncle's lube, though. That was something that didn't bear thinking about.

No, he really, _really_ couldn't bear to think about it.

Getting his fingers slicked and slotted up inside of Stiles' was actually a lot easier than Derek had expected it to be. It had been taking a chance, starting with two, and he half expected Stiles to wince, to complain, maybe even to ask him to take it back down to one, but instead Stiles grabbed at him, clutching him close, and tilted his hips upward _into_ the penetration, babbling about how good it felt and how he wanted _more_.

Derek wasn't sure whether Stiles meant more fingers, more movement, more stimulation of other parts of his body, or all of the above, but this time he didn't bother to ask. He did what he wanted and what he thought was best for Stiles, and began sliding his two fingers in and out of his tight, clenching asshole, while at the same time moving down to lick at his puffy pink nipples.

This was obviously the right action, because Stiles was reduced to writhing, whining, gasping for breath and scrabbling at Derek's back and shoulders in a way that would have left scratch-marks if he didn't chew his nails down to the quick regularly. 

Derek would say that he was doing this right, he thought smugly as he sucked on a nipple that pebbled up stiff and pointy against his tongue, stimulated by the pressure. He could feel Stiles' hard-on pulsing and leaking against his lower abdomen, and his own growing erection was grinding against the sheets as though he hadn't just recently gotten off in the shower.

As much as Derek was enjoying teasing Stiles' flushed chest -- and he was, he definitely was -- Derek knew he didn't want either of them actually jizzing on Peter's sheets. And so with a last lingering lick for the nipple he'd been neglecting, he scooted downward, headed for a bigger prize.

Stiles cried out and arched involuntarily when Derek sucked his straining cock into his eager mouth, still fucking into him with two fingers, his heels digging into the mattress and his thigh muscles quivering to either side of Derek's head. He sank his fingers into Derek's hair and _pulled_ , hard enough to hurt, but that was probably for the better, Derek thought vaguely, because he'd been pretty close to rutting against the mattress until he came as the taste of Stiles broke thick and rich over his tongue.

Derek hadn't lied, he'd enjoyed eating Stiles out, hadn't found it to be disgusting at all once he'd washed him clean, even though the taboo element of it had made it a little more raunchy, a little more filthy than he'd expected to like. But he liked even more when he got to suck Stiles' cock. It was hard but soft at once, covered in delicate skin, hot as fire but wet with leaking precome, and it tasted like undiluted sex. 

Not to mention the fact that sucking on it offered Stiles so much pleasure. That was a consideration. Derek wasn't only in this for what he could get out of it, after all. He was in it for what he could offer Stiles at the same time.

He didn't have an oral fixation the way Stiles so obviously did, but Derek liked the way Stiles' hard-on filled his mouth. It was true that his jaw got a little sore, but it was a good feeling, and anyway, Stiles usually came so quickly that Derek's jaw didn't get _very_ sore.

This time, though, Derek was doing his best to draw out the pleasure, to make sure that Stiles lasted. He didn't suck hard, instead letting the blunt head of Stiles' hard cock rest against the flat of his tongue, his lips sealed around the shaft as he bobbed shallowly up and down.

At the same time he fucked into him with two fingers, pausing to renew the lube when he felt like it was rubbing off, and using his thumb to caress the bulge of Stiles' perineum the way Stiles had stimulated his while giving him that blowjob earlier.

Stiles keened, his entire pelvis arching up off the mattress, the inner walls of his asshole clenching convulsively around Derek's invasive fingers, and he was pulling at Derek's hair again, babbling out things that might have been directions, entreaties, or both as his pulsing hard-on leaked copiously over Derek's tongue.

Derek was gratified by all of these involuntary reactions, but he just kept doing what he had been doing. It helped that Stiles had just come in the shower fairly recently, even with the refractory period typical of a thirteen year old, and Derek was planning to milk this for all it was worth.

He drizzled more lube on his fingers during one long, slow slide out, then added a third on the thrust in, causing Stiles to cry out and arch again, his hands leaving Derek's hair to clutch at the sheets to either side of his hips. Stiles' hole around his fingers was such a tight squeeze that Derek could feel his bones grinding together at the knuckles, but it was well worth the mild discomfort for the sounds he was dragging out of Stiles.

With his thumb pressing harder at Stiles' perineum and his pinkie ending up sliding along Stiles' ass crack, Derek began to piston his other three fingers in and out more vigorously. He also began nursing at Stiles' leaking cock, feeling his lips grow red, his cheeks hollowing. 

Hey, Derek was really enjoying this, and he had intended to draw this out, but he felt like Stiles' sphincter was going to crush his fingers so he was ready to get him off already. Taking his time was all very well and good, but Stiles' asshole was like a fucking _vise_.

Derek wondered vaguely what this hot clench would feel like around his cock -- probably a hell of a lot better than it felt around his fingers and the amount of pleasure it would give him would be amazing -- but most of his attention was fixed on the swollen cock in his mouth and the way it was beginning to twitch and throb, clearly preparing to shoot off.

Pulling off a little, Derek raised his tongue until the flat of it was pressed against the slit of Stiles' cock, so that when he came it wouldn't go straight into Derek's throat and potentially choke him. Once, when he and his friends had been drunk, Erica had informed him of this little trick. And while he'd been deeply traumatized by the thought of Erica going down on Boyd, or anyone really, Derek had filed the knowledge away for his own future use.

It was a little difficult to accomplish while still sucking, but he managed it, and then Stiles was going tight all over and shouting as he came, and Derek worked to swallow without spilling, because he didn't want to leave any traces of their activities in Peter's sheets.

He could _feel_ the bones of his fingers grinding together in the squeeze of Stiles' ass, felt as though he could _hear_ them creaking even though he knew better, and he was actually kind of relieved to pull them out when Stiles finally finished jizzing in his mouth and collapsed on the bed much like he had done in the shower.

Derek's erection was begging him for attention, but Stiles was shaking and whimpering and Derek's protective, possessive nature kicked in. So he ignored his own arousal and surged upward, mouth leaving Stiles' flexing hard-on, and he pulled his stepbrother into his arms, holding him close and rubbing his back as he murmured soothingly into his blazing hot, sweat-soaked cheek.

"It's okay. It's okay. You did so good."

It didn't even make sense, because Derek was the one who'd done all the work, but it sounded right, and it seemed to do the trick as Stiles slowly caught his breath and calmed.

"Don't...." Stiles gasped and shivered a little, but he was growing more steady as Derek cuddled him, and he waited patiently for Stiles to finish the sentence. "Don't jerk off, okay? I wanna...."

"Okay," Derek promised, getting what Stiles was concerned about. He'd gotten himself off in the shower after rimming Stiles, and evidently Stiles didn't want a repeat of that. Neither did Derek, to be fair, even though he'd been fine with it in the shower. If Stiles wanted to help with his pending orgasm, then Derek had no problem with waiting for him to collect himself.

"You could fuck between my thighs," Stiles offered, still sounding breathless, but his hands moving over Derek's upper back with increasing awareness. "We both like that."

"Yeah," Derek agreed, feeling his cock jump and leak precome at the very thought of it. "But then I'd come on the bed. And I'm _not_ jizzing on Grams' towels."

"Oh, yeah." Stiles' hand wandered down to caress the top swell of Derek's ass and he squirmed a little, his balls aching in a way that was as much pleasure as pain, his cock jerking with the desire for friction. He needed to come, and he needed it _now_. "Do you want my mouth?"

Derek choked a little, folding inward, holding Stiles a little too tightly, but he thought that answered the question. He didn't feel comfortable demanding that Stiles return the favor, but if he was _offering_....

"Awesome."

And he couldn't mistake Stiles' enthusiasm as he wriggled his way downward, pausing to lick at Derek's nipples, making him gasp, fingers plucking at his short chest hairs, and then the next thing Derek knew Stiles was settled between his thighs as though he belonged there and was sucking his hard-on down with flattering hunger.

No matter how often Stiles blew him -- and he had just done so in the kitchen earlier -- Derek was always startled by how _good_ Stiles was at it, how much he clearly enjoyed it, and he was always overwhelmed by the heat and the wetness and the intense suction. Derek didn't think he would ever get used to it, and he didn't want to. 

Derek grunted, a startled sound that was almost punched out of him, when Stiles' lube-slicked fingers worked their way between his own ass cheeks and rubbed at his asshole. That was all it took, on top of the pleasure Stiles was dragging out of his cock with his sloppy slurping mouth, to bring Derek off, and he curved inward, stomach muscles and balls contracting as he spilled his load over Stiles' nimble tongue.

Knowing that Stiles was swallowing was almost as much of a rush as the actual orgasm, even though Derek did the same when he blew Stiles. That was another thing Derek never wanted to get used to.

Then they were cuddling together in the tangled sheets, enjoying the afterglow and sharing body heat, and Derek was actually able to completely ignore the fact that they were resting on Peter's bed.

"Are you ready for lunch?" Derek asked, feeling a bit of emptiness gnawing at his belly once the endorphins began to fade away some. _He_ hadn't been gorging on raw cookie dough, unlike Stiles, though he _had_ eaten four of the snickerdoodles they'd baked before getting in the shower.

"Yeah." Stiles sat up, looking deliciously debauched. Derek felt smug, remembering that he'd introduced Stiles to both rimming and fingering today, and that Stiles had enjoyed both of these things. Immensely.

"What do you want?" Derek asked, stretching luxuriantly, feeling all of his muscles go shivery loose and warm.

"Pizza?" 

Derek scoffed. "Grams said we could cook anything in the kitchen and you want to order pizza?"

Stiles nodded enthusiastically, his grin wide and white, his lips still red and plumped from the way he'd been sucking Derek's cock.

"With pepperoni!"

Derek sighed, but he already knew he was going to give Stiles what he was asking for. That seemed to be the new norm.

Besides, pepperoni pizza did sound really good.

+=+=+

It felt weird to Stiles, after the adults got back from their train trip, to sit around and chat normally with his parent and grandparents while his butthole and dick still felt all tingly, knowing that Peter might notice that they'd banged in his bed, would probably realize that they'd used his lube... but Stiles was becoming a master at ignoring inconvenient realities.

And besides, it wasn't like he and Derek had any choice other than to act completely normal.

Stiles was pretty sure Peter wouldn't care even if he realized they'd had sex in his bed. Heck, he would probably get off on it. Which was kind of creepy, but Stiles figured Peter probably deserved some reward for getting Stiles and Derek so much time alone.

Being beholden to Peter for the fact that Derek had shown Stiles all about rimming and fingering was awkward, but no more awkward than pretending that he and Derek hadn't spent the afternoon fucking.

The fact that they'd showered -- because they'd had to bathe a second time just before everyone arrived home, to wash away the scent of sex -- was easily enough explained.

"Stiles got messy with the flour," Derek said, offering up a plate of cookies with a small grin and a wicked glance in his stepbrother's direction.

Stiles sulked a little at being made the scapegoat, but it wasn't like it was so very unbelievable, not like it hadn't happened before. Which was why all the adults bought the story without question even though the cookies were cool, had clearly been baked much earlier in the day, and Derek and Stiles were still damp and flushed; both of them.

Well, all the adults who weren't Peter bought it, Stiles thought, glancing at the smarmy smirk on his uncle's thin lips.

The cookies were declared delicious, though this wasn't anything that had been in question. Dinner was pizza, which had made Derek roll his eyes at Stiles, but it was _different_ pizza, purchased from a _real_ privately owned pizzeria that the parents and grandparents had passed on their way home, not ordered delivered from a chain, and it was way better than the pizza Derek and Stiles had had for lunch.

Though that had tasted really good too, since they'd been eating it right after some really spectacular sex.

And then the entire family went out and played laser-tag, even Peter. Which was the "fun" that Grams had promised them before leaving the house, and it _was_ fun. Largely because Papa Hale was easily as competitive as his daughter, Peter was even more sneaky than Stiles tried to be, and Derek and Stiles got to be on the same team. Talia still won, of course. But they all had a good time.

It was fun to just hang out with the family and feel like a kid again, to not be obsessed with sex, though Stiles definitely got distracted more than once by the flex of Derek's forearm muscles as he pulled the trigger on his laser-gun, and the way his jeans stretched over his spectacular thighs and amazing butt when he squatted down behind cover....

But that was okay too, because Stiles was thirteen and _everything_ made him think of sex; especially the sexy older stepbrother who'd licked his butthole earlier in the day. Then, after they went back to the hotel, he and Derek had even more sex before falling into a deep and sated sleep.

And there were still two more days left in their visit. Granted, Peter probably wasn't going to be able to secure them hours of private time again... but they would make do.

There was plenty of time for banging _and_ for family fun, and Stiles intended to enjoy it all.

Best. Vacation. Ever.


	11. Chapter 11

Regular sex with the stepbrother he'd been lusting after for a while now made Derek feel euphoric but it didn't make him stupid. He and Stiles were careful not to get caught, even when they both felt as though their libidinous instincts constantly wanted to get the better of them.

Well, there was the time they'd separated themselves from the adults while on a day-trip to the tiny island the Hales owned, going off into the tiny but thick wood in back while their parents, grandparents, and Uncle Peter lounged in the shore-side cabin and drank beer or wine depending on their preference.

Outdoor sex almost wasn't worth it, Derek and Stiles both agreed, even though it was hot while happening. But it was awkward and potentially disastrous, and once it was over with they'd had to take a quick dip in the lake, even though neither of them had brought swimwear, so that they could wash away the sweat and jizz and to help explain their flushed faces.

Peter had given them an amused stare from under hooded lids when they'd made their damp way back to the cabin, but Derek discovered after the fact that he'd also made sure that their Mom and Dad had been too distracted to go for a walk like they'd been discussing. 

Derek and Stiles kind of really owed him for that... like, hugely.

Derek was a little afraid of how Peter might want to be repaid, but while he gave both Derek and Stiles plenty of filthy, knowledgeable, amused looks, his uncle never said anything suggestive to their parents or made any overtures toward them specifically.

It still made Derek uncomfortable to see how Peter's eyes tracked over his own body, and he seethed with possessive jealousy whenever Peter turned his attention to Stiles -- and that was way more gross and perverted than when _Derek_ had wanted Stiles, because Peter was on the wrong side of thirty and old enough to be Stiles' father! -- but he couldn't actively protest. Not when they really did owe Peter for keeping their parents from stumbling across them while they banged in the trees.

Mostly Derek and Stiles managed to restrain themselves to having sex in their hotel room, and they had to keep it quiet while they were there. By the end of their stay, both Derek and Stiles had slight shadowing under their eyes from lack of sleep -- they couldn't very well say they needed to spend their mornings sleeping in because they'd been up all night fucking -- but Derek knew that they both had bright eyes and glowing faces, and he was pretty sure neither of them had ever been happier.

Derek certainly hadn't been for a while now. Puberty hadn't been very much fun for him. It had done good things for him physically, but not so much emotionally. Hell, most of the reason Derek had bulked up so much was because he'd used exercise and weightlifting as an outlet for his angst and confusion and occasional rage. So far Stiles hadn't reached the sullen, angry phase that Derek had been mired in, but he was definitely overly-emotional and somewhat needy.

Well, regular sex seemed to be just as good for Stiles as it was for Derek, and even though it had only been a few days Derek already couldn't remember what it had been like before Stiles had reached out and stolen Derek's towel, getting them started on this journey.

Despite the lingering guilt and the extreme need for secrecy, Derek felt that things were going well... which, of course, was when everything broke apart and shattered into a million painful, scarring pieces.

Not surprisingly, it was Peter who fucked things up. Though, to be fair, he didn't actually _mean_ to. Or at least, Derek didn't think so. But he was too busy feeling sick to his stomach to really spend time wondering who was to blame. 

Well, he didn't _have_ to wonder. Because Derek knew that in the beginning and at the end of it, _he_ was the one who was in the wrong.

It had happened when they'd all been saying their good-byes at the Hale house at the end of the long weekend, exchanging hugs and promises to email and post photos on FaceBook and other social media once they got home. 

Peter had hugged Stiles far longer and tighter than Derek had thought was necessary or advisable. But it wasn't until he'd embraced Derek that things had all gone to shit. 

Peter _hadn't_ surreptitiously groped Derek, the way Stiles implied he tended to do, though he'd held on a little longer than Derek was comfortable with. But it was the way he'd murmured in Derek's ear that had turned Derek's blood cold in his veins.

"That's my boy," he'd crooned, low enough that no one else could hear, giving him a last squeeze on the shoulder, and then was off to ambush his brother-in-law, managing to give him half a hug, which was more than he'd managed in years.

Derek was frozen where he stood; it felt like literally. He'd known it all along, deep inside, but he'd been ignoring his conscience so hard that he almost hadn't noticed. Sex had overridden everything else in his brain.

But he'd been doing something _so wrong_. He'd been taking advantage of a kid who was too young to know better. 

Derek was old enough that _he_ should have known better. He was going to be headed to college soon. What he and Stiles had been doing... well, it wasn't as though Derek had _forced_ Stiles at any point. But Stiles wasn't old enough or emotionally mature enough to make an informed decision about what was best for him versus what he wanted.

Stiles was young and horny and curious, and Derek had taken advantage of that fact. He'd done what Peter might have done in the same situation, had been so perverted that Peter actually approved! 

Stiles had been vulnerable and Derek... Derek hadn't protected him the way he should have done. Instead, he'd done the opposite of protecting him.

It wasn't as though Derek hadn't noticed Stiles' crush on him before anything had happened. It was purely physical, of course. Stiles had been tumbling headlong into puberty and had been discovering his bisexuality.... Living in the same house as someone who looked like Derek could only really have had one result. That wasn't egotistical; Derek worked hard to build up and maintain his muscles and he knew his face wasn't completely unfortunate.

No, for Stiles to desire Derek was only natural. But there wasn't much that was natural about Derek's lust for his younger stepbrother, no matter how cute Stiles could be, how almost pretty he was in the rare event that he was quiet. And for Derek to have actually _acted_ on that unnatural lust... well, that was untenable, _unforgivable_.

Derek had been so caught up in the pleasure that they'd been giving each other that he hadn't been _thinking_ , hadn't even given a moment of consideration to how _wrong_ it had been.

And it had been very wrong. If they had to hide it from their parents... if _Peter_ approved....

Well, it was going to have to stop. Derek couldn't keep taking advantage of Stiles the way he had been doing.

The hell of it was that Derek actually had feelings for Stiles. He knew that because of how much it _hurt_ to realize that he needed to completely cut this sexual thing between them off. It felt like it should have made things better, knowing that he actually _cared_ about the thirteen year old boy he'd been having sex with....

But the fact of the matter was that Derek was almost a legal adult and he'd been _having sex with a thirteen year old_. Granted, it was Stiles. But that almost made it worse, not better. And there was nothing Derek could say or do that would make this okay.

At least he wouldn't be breaking Stiles' heart. He and Stiles had been getting along better, but it wasn't as though Stiles was _in love_ with him or anything.

It was still going to completely suck to end everything. And not just because that meant the end of their amazing sex. It would probably also mean the end of their budding relationship.

They couldn't be lovers anymore, but they'd at least still be stepbrothers. 

Too bad that would make things more awkward than less.

+=+=+

There was something wrong, Stiles could tell. He wasn't stupid, and he knew Derek by now, had gotten to know him _really_ well recently.

It was like they were back to the bad old days during the car ride home. Derek was dead silent and was clearly stewing over something. He stared out the window, he ignored everyone else in the car, he shied away from Stiles every time he even came close to touching him....

And that hurt Stiles' feelings, because it wasn't like he was going to forget and _grope_ Derek in front of their parents or anything. He'd have thought that Derek knew that. But it seemed as though there was something else going on, something bigger. And it made for one long, uncomfortable ride home.

Their Mom knew something was wrong, how could she not? She poked at Derek a few times, when they stopped for lunch and to pee, but didn't get anything other than some agonized grunts of dismissal.

It really _was_ like the bad old days.

Talia gave Stiles a curious glance or two, but he shrugged each time, because as far as he knew he hadn't done anything. The last time he and Derek had spoken to one another in the hotel room, before they'd headed for the Hales' to eat and say goodbye, everything had seemed perfectly fine. Stiles had borrowed another of Derek's shirts and Derek had threatened to take one of his in return even though they both knew that Stiles needed to keep his bruised wrists covered. Stiles had dared Derek to do it, because he wanted to see the material stretched tight over all those muscles, but Derek had declined.

So, yeah, they'd been doing okay as far as Stiles knew. Derek had kissed the corner of Stiles' mouth before they'd grabbed their bags to load in the car and head over to say goodbye to their grandparents and Peter, because if he kissed him on the lips they might end up too red and plumped. Derek had reminded Stiles to take his pillow with him, and then they'd been on their way....

And now something was wrong, but since Derek wasn't _talking_ , Stiles had no idea what it _was_.

This stony silence continued until they got home. After unloading the car, Dad and Mom went out shopping for groceries so they'd be able to eat dinner and make lunches tomorrow without eating out of cans and boxes, and Stiles figured this was the perfect time to try and find out what bug was biting Derek's butt. 

Like when they'd made the drive out, at the end of such a long car trip Stiles was brimming with unspent energy. But somehow he didn't think he was going to get to work that off with some awesome sex with Derek like he had when they'd reached the hotel at the beginning of their trip. 

Just a gut feeling, considering that Derek looked as though his world was ending.

"Derek, what's _wrong_?" Stiles asked, following Derek into the kitchen where he'd gone to get a bottle of water out of the fridge, their luggage tumbled in the entryway with Stiles' pillow perched on top.

Derek grunted and shrugged, half turned away from Stiles, and Stiles threw his head back and rolled his eyes. 

"Talk to me," he commanded, his hands fisting in the extra material at the ends of the sleeves of Derek's shirt that he was wearing. He was sweating with nerves and he wasn't even sure why, but he was pretty sure that he wasn't going to like whatever Derek came out with. Even if it didn't involve him, it had to be bad from the way Derek was acting... and from the way he wouldn't meet Stiles' eyes, Stiles was beginning to suspect with a sinking feeling that it _did_ involve him somehow.

Derek set down his water bottle on the counter carefully and turned toward Stiles, which was an improvement, but his jaw was tight and he was looking at Stiles' left ear instead of actually meeting his eyes, and the feeling of _"something is severely wrong"_ was only growing and settled in Stiles' stomach like a cold stone that rolled around and made him feel a little sick.

"Derek." Stiles took one step toward Derek, because he felt like if he could just _touch_ Derek, hug him, then everything would be okay, but then Derek threw up a hand, looking alarmed, and now he was staring at Stiles, meeting his eyes, but he looked completely freaked out and that was _not_ okay.

"Stop," Derek commanded, as though his body language wouldn't have been enough to root Stiles where he stood, skin prickling with anxiety.

"What is it?" Stiles asked, chewing on his lower lip so hard it hurt, an icy chill crawling over his entire body. He knew, he just _knew_ he was going to hate whatever Derek was going to say next.

"Stiles, we can't anymore."

Stiles' brows shot up. "Can't what?" he asked, even though he figured there was only one thing Derek could be talking about. But _why_ would Derek say that? Why would he think that? Where the hell was this coming from?!

"We can't...." Derek's gaze skittered away again, and his hands were clenched on the edge of the counter behind him. He looked pained. "You know. We can't."

"What? Have sex?" Stiles asked bluntly, because if Derek was going to say something so crazy and devastating then Stiles was going to call him on it. "What the actual fuck, Derek?!"

Derek swallowed tightly and looked at Stiles. "It was wrong... of me.... I shouldn't have...."

Stiles scowled, wrapping his arms around his aching stomach, but Derek's words gave him something to focus on, at least. So it wasn't anything Stiles had done to fuck this up? If it was something that Derek was putting on himself, well....

"That's so stupid," he spat out, scowling. "You're being _stupid_."

Derek scowled back, even though he still looked somehow wounded and he was more pale than usual. There was a high flush to the point of each cheekbone, but it wasn't healthy color.

"Stiles, I shouldn't have done what I did. It was wrong and I can't keep doing it," he said clearly and with badly misplaced nobility.

Stiles huffed and shifted so that his arms were folded, his feet braced as though he was expecting a fight. Well, this did feel like one. And he wasn't about to let Derek rip away what they'd had without putting up a fight!

"You're acting like you think you, what, took advantage of me or something?" he scoffed, shaking his head, then he froze as Derek's face took on a stricken expression, his eyes filled with guilt.

Stiles gaped, letting his arms fall to his sides, his own eyes wide and his mouth hanging open.

"Oh my God, do you seriously think you took advantage of me?" he squawked.

Derek winced. "But I did," he said, speaking as though the words pained him to say. "Stiles, you're only thirteen."

"So? So you think that means I don't know my own mind?" Stiles demanded forcefully, before a terrible possibility occurred to him. 

Stiles' brows lowered stormily, and he took a deep breath before asking his next question, trying to keep his voice calm even though he felt like shouting it so loud he broke Derek's eardrums.

"Do you think I'm just some dumb kid who banged you because you were hot and willing? Is that seriously what you think?" 

And, okay, maybe he was sort of shouting by the time he finished, but he was _pissed_ and he had every right to be.

"I--" Derek didn't finish that thought but his caught-out expression was enough for Stiles, who wasn't stupid, no matter what anyone thought.

"That's totally what you think," he snarled, hands fisting in the sleeves of his borrowed shirt, this time in rage rather than anxiety. His heart was pounding in his chest and he was torn between wanting to throw up and wanting to punch Derek his in stupid perfect face for being such a condescending asshole. 

"Fuck you, Derek!" he continued when Derek said nothing, just continued to stand there, looking like a martyr. "I might be a kid, but I'm not dumb and I know my own mind!"

"Stiles--"

"No!" Stiles was literally seeing red around the edges of his vision and he was quaking where he stood as adrenaline flooded his system, his body gearing up for a physical battle when this was a verbal confrontation. He knew his voice was shaking but he couldn't stop now. Not when Derek was being such an asshole, not when he was breaking things off with Stiles for what he was probably thinking of as Stiles' "own good" when really it was just so that Derek wouldn't continue to feel like the bad guy.

And definitely not when Derek was putting this on Stiles, making him the selfish one here. Because he wasn't, and he _did_ care about Derek, wasn't just banging him because he was hot and available and willing.

"No, you don't get to tell me what I think or what I feel," Stiles snapped, his shoulders so tight his neck was aching. "Fuck you! That wasn't what this was!"

Derek looked even more guilty now, and Stiles would have felt vindicated except for the horrible thought that had just abruptly struck him.

"Was that all it was for you?" he asked, weak instead of fiery, his eyes burning wet instead of burning dry. He wasn't about to cry, though. He wouldn't give Derek the extra ammunition. "Was I just convenient?"

"What? No!" Derek blurted, throwing his hands forward but not stepping toward Stiles, keeping the space between them. "No, of course not, Stiles."

"Then what's the problem?" Stiles asked, because he couldn't see any reason they couldn't keep on having amazing sex. What was _with_ this abrupt attack of conscience that Derek was having?

"Stiles, we just can't," Derek said, his hands spread in entreaty but all that Stiles could see was that he was being pushed away, and his heart clenched like a vice, actual physical pain shooting through him. 

"We can," he denied, his breath coming hard and fast, his arms and legs shaking because somehow he sensed that this was a battle he wasn't going to win.

"No, we can't." Derek sounded mournful, looked contrite, and Stiles didn't know if it was because he was dumping Stiles or if it was because he regretted ever getting involved with him in the first place, but it didn't really matter because it hurt like a knife in his chest either way and stole the air out of his lungs. "We just can't anymore, Stiles."

"Fuck you, Derek," Stiles snarled, even though he knew that wasn't an eloquent argument. Derek had caught him unprepared, though, and then ripped his heart out of his chest with his hard words and broken expression. "You don't get to make this decision for both of us."

"Yes, I do," Derek insisted. "Because I'm right and we both know it. What I did was wrong and I have to do what I can to make this right."

Stiles stared at Derek for a long moment, wondering how in the hell his older stepbrother could have gotten this so _wrong_.

"Seriously?" he managed to choke out. He had so much to say that he couldn't force the words out, and yet at the same time he couldn't put his feelings into words. He felt like he was going to explode and it was as much with grief as it was with fury.

"I'm sorry," Derek said, and his face said he meant for everything. And the thought that Derek regretted all the hot sex they had had, the cuddling, the kissing, the playful banter....

Well, that hurt worse than anything Stiles had ever experienced in his life, save his mother's death. And he didn't want to stand here and look at Derek's stupid gorgeous face any more.

"Whatever," he said, his voice throttled. "Just let me know when you pull your head out of your ass!"

And with that parting shot he turned and darted out of the kitchen. He retrieved his pillow from the entryway and then pounded up to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

He never wanted to see Derek again! 

Except for the part where he needed Derek like he needed air.

But Derek didn't want him, and that hurt so bad that Stiles couldn't even cry. He curled up on his bed, clutching his pillow, his throat aching but his eyes dry, and did his best to think about _nothing_.

Too bad his brain hated him and insisted on running through _everything_ that had happened in the last several days; both the good and the agonizingly bad.

And the worst part was that the agonizingly bad had tainted the good, and Stiles still didn't cry but he was pretty sure he felt a migraine coming on anyway.

He buried his face in his pillow and tried to shut out the world. He just wished he could shut off his traitorous brain.

It sucked to be him right now. But it was probably worse being Derek.... 

Sadly, this thought did nothing to comfort Stiles. Derek had broken things off with him and made it clear that he wished they'd never done anything and hadn't left Stiles any room to talk him out of the decision he was making for both of them. It was pretty much the worst thing that could ever happen and there was _nothing_ that could comfort Stiles now.

Nothing except Derek telling him he took it all back... and Stiles knew _that_ wasn't going to happen.

+=+=+

Things kind of went back to normal after the confrontation in the kitchen, though it was the bad normal, not the new good normal. 

Stiles was ignoring Derek again, but this time it wasn't like when Derek had left the lube on his bed. Now it was with hurt feelings and simmering resentment instead of abject embarrassment. And Derek had gotten used to talking with Stiles -- as well as doing other things with him -- so that made it suck even more.

But it was Derek's own fault, he was the one who had given in to his perverted desires, and he was only sorry that Stiles was suffering for his mistakes as well. Derek had a lot to make up for, and he actually embraced his plans for leaving to go to college, because that was the best way he knew to begin to fix this; by removing himself from the equation.

It felt as much cowardly as it did prudent, but Derek really couldn't think of anything else he could _do_. He'd already apologized to Stiles. He wasn't going to go back on his declaration that they couldn't be together sexually anymore. It felt like running away, but maybe they'd both feel better if they literally couldn't see each other anymore.

Stiles seemed to be doing everything he could to test Derek's resolve, when he wasn't pretending his older stepbrother didn't exist. Or even when he was, sometimes. It was as though Stiles' oral fixation had been magnified by a dozen, and he started wearing jeans that caressed his taut little ass and long legs way too closely for Derek's peace of mind. 

Or maybe Stiles wasn't doing anything different and Derek remained a pervert. That was a distinct possibility.

Their father was discomfited by the obvious rift that had sprung up between his two sons, but he was kind of allergic to talking about his feelings and Derek was more relieved by that than anything else. Especially after having to deal with his mother's curiosity.

His Mom had noticed when the trouble had started and had hinted around the idea of Uncle Peter giving Derek the bad-touch in a way that was horrifying and traumatizing. Derek had made sure to shoot that idea down immediately. 

Contrary to what Stiles thought, Peter accidentally brushing his hand against Derek's ass when they hugged was _not_ a legitimate bad-touch.

It was clear, even to Derek's guilty conscience, from the sadness on her face when she looked at Derek and Stiles as they failed in interact that his Mom didn't even suspect that _Derek_ had been the one to bad-touch _Stiles_.

Which was good, was a relief, but it didn't change that fact that Derek had done it and there was no way to undo it.

So Derek made plans to go off to college, and he made a point of spending lots of time with his friends. Actually _not_ because he was avoiding home and Stiles, but mostly because they weren't going to all be together after their senior year. Boyd and Erica would be headed off to a different college -- both of them to the same one -- though Isaac at least was attending the university Derek was going to.

There was drama going on there, too, that took Derek's mind off of Stiles a little; inasmuch as his mind ever strayed far from Stiles. Boyd proposed to Erica about a week before graduation, with a nice ring he'd made himself. Erica turned him down, which made everything a little strange and awkward during graduation, but then she came right back at Boyd directly after the ceremony with her own proposal and a thick silver ring she'd gotten for him. 

The next thing anyone knew, they'd eloped and their families were somewhat distraught by that fact. Derek could only be happy for them, himself. It wasn't like Erica was pregnant or anything, and the two of them were still going to go to college; together as they'd already been planning. The only thing that really changed as far as Derek was concerned was that he could now say he knew a married couple.

Which was weird, but it was Erica and Boyd, so it wasn't _that_ weird. Well, not any weirder than the two of them were in general. Which was part of the reason Derek was friends with them, so it was all good.

Then the time came, and Derek was headed off to college, Stiles didn't even hug him goodbye, which Derek thought was for the best even though their parents were appalled. Derek had broken something between himself and Stiles, though, and their parents couldn't know about that.

It might not be Stiles' trust he had broken, but Derek thought that wasn't very far from the truth.

Derek kept in touch with Erica and Boyd through email and video chat, which wasn't quite the same as seeing them at school every day but was good enough. He missed them and looked forward to his first break home, when he would get to see them again.

Initially Derek was glad that Isaac was going to the same school he was attending. It was nice having one friend already with him. He was grateful up until the first time they got drunk at a party together... and Isaac got completely wasted and hit on Derek.

To be perfectly honest, Derek's first reaction was annoyance that _Stiles had been right_ when they had discussed Isaac so long ago. Next he felt embarrassed for Isaac, and a little for himself for having to field Isaac's sloppy advances. Since he had absolutely zero desire to try anything with one of his closest friends but didn't want to lose that friendship, Derek turned Isaac down as gently as he could manage, helped him get to bed, and then tried to pretend that nothing had happened.

Once he'd recovered from the following day's hangover Isaac had seemed more bitter than embarrassed, which Derek thought was kind of unfair, but he and Derek were still friends. Although Derek _did_ begin spending more time communicating with Erica through chat and texting Boyd, and less time hanging out with Isaac, and for his own part, Isaac seemed content to drift away, finding a pretty dark-haired girl with dimples to date and devoting himself to their budding relationship as much as to his studying. 

Losing Isaac, even though only partially, made Derek a little sad, but he knew high school friendships didn't always last through college. And Isaac seemed really happy with his new girlfriend.

Derek was glad for Isaac, he was, but seeing him with a budding romance made Derek ache. He tried _not_ to think about the fact that it was Stiles who sprang to mind every time he saw the two of them together.

Because wanting Stiles was _wrong_ , and Derek had been supposed to forget about his twisted desires once he'd gone to college and wasn't seeing Stiles every day.

So, when Isaac's new girlfriend, Allison, introduce Derek to her aunt -- who was only a little older than her and attending the same college -- and her aunt, Kate, asked Derek out to dinner, he decided it was high time he began dipping his toe in the dating pool as well. 

Never mind that it felt like a betrayal of his feelings for Stiles. Derek rationalized that away by telling himself it was _different_ when he went out with girls. Females who were his own age -- or in Kate's case, a couple of years _older_ \-- and who weren't his very much younger stepbrother. Girls he wouldn't be taking advantage of...

It helped nothing when he'd gone out with Kate and she had promptly become completely obsessed with him, to the point that it had been really disturbing. 

Kate had looked basically the opposite of Allison. She had been blonde, pretty in a sharp way, and she'd been aggressive. A little _too_ aggressive, Derek discovered. He'd been perfectly personable, had given her a kiss good night because she'd so obviously been expecting it, but once their evening out was done he hadn't intended to see her again. She had a mean sense of humor and had said some worrying things during their dinner conversation.

Which last was probably why it shouldn't have come as a huge surprise when she got all weird and began basically stalking him, seeming convinced that they were meant to be or something. It was more than a little terrifying and Derek wasn't sure what to do.

He hadn't had the guts to complain to Allison about her aunt being insane and creepy, and she might not have believed him if he had. Besides, Derek was a guy; he was supposed to be able to look out for himself, not being menaced by a slim female with big eyes and long golden hair.

Thankfully, he'd complained to his Mom about it, she had promptly told her husband, and no one stalked the stepson of a Sheriff who had connections in the area and got away with it. Derek wasn't sure what had happened, he kind of assumed it wasn't anything illegal since _cops_ were involved, but Kate abruptly began avoiding him like the plague. 

The downside to this was that she began spreading terrible rumors about him, but Derek was just glad she wasn't creeping on him anymore. 

The rumors were more than a little annoying, but then Kate's stories started contradicting themselves so badly that people actually noticed, and _then_ she became obsessed with one of her professors, and that.... Well, Derek didn't actually _know_ what happened after that, but it didn't end well for Kate and the next thing he heard, she'd had to leave the school.

Derek tried not to feel vindicated, but he was only human. She had been genuinely unpleasant and downright scary and he was relieved to know that he'd never see her again.

Once it had all been over, Allison had apologized profusely for setting the two of them up, and had sworn up and down that she'd had no idea of her aunt's darker side. Derek didn't think she was lying, so he told her it was okay and let it go with that. In part to show that he didn't hold a grudge, and at Allison's invitation, he started hanging out with them more, and it felt good to spend time with Isaac as friends and nothing else again.

After the disaster that was Kate, Derek probably should have given up on dating entirely, but that would have felt like surrender and defeat. Besides, Jennifer had seemed so nice, and she'd been so eager and adorable.

It wasn't until after the fact that he realized how much she'd reminded him of _Stiles_ ; down to the dark hair and eyes, the dotting of moles, the quirky sense of humor, the enthusiastic flailing of limbs, and the occasional off-topic rambling.... 

But by then everything had gone to shit even worse than with Kate, and Jennifer's superficial resemblance to Derek's stepbrother was actually the _least_ bizarre thing about the whole situation.

They'd gone out a few times, laughed together, and Jennifer had seemed perfectly nice... up until the moment that she roofied Derek while they were hanging out in the small apartment she lived in instead of a dorm.

Derek had been unconscious so whatever her intention had been, Jennifer had been limited in what she could do. In fact, Derek likely wouldn't have known what she had done if she hadn't broken down in tears and hysterically confessed everything once he was awake again. 

She said she'd only kissed him once and then had lost her nerve, and since she'd been crying so hard he could barely make out the words through her heaving sobs, and since his clothes had all seemed intact, Derek was inclined to believe that she hadn't gone any further than she'd claimed. The implication, though, had been that she'd _intended_ to do more... And she had _drugged_ him into unconsciousness, which was so not cool he could hardly process it.

Derek probably should have reported her actions -- to the campus authorities if not the police -- even though Jennifer had sworn up and down she'd never done anything like that before and never would again. But after her complete breakdown she left school, running off with the ex-girlfriend who'd evidently been the one to tip her over the edge before, and Derek was even more grateful she was gone than he'd been when he'd discovered that he'd seen the last of Kate.

And maybe he felt a little violated, and he definitely wasn't going to accept drinks from anyone ever again that didn't come in a sealed container -- if then -- but at least he didn't have any actual memory of Jennifer's stolen kiss, had no real recollection of being rendered unconscious and vulnerable, since he'd been, well, _unconscious_. 

So he tried hard to shove away his only natural feeling of violation and to just get on with his life. 

It helped to talk to Erica about it. Once she'd heard his sorry story, Erica had been so incensed that she'd been ready to literally fly out to Derek's school and beat the everloving _shit_ out of Jennifer; ranted and raved and threatened, even though she really couldn't actually afford a plane ticket. Fortunately for all of them, Jennifer was already gone by the time Derek confessed why he'd seemed kind of distracted and peaked the last few times they'd chatted.

After these two insane debacles Derek was just _done_ with dating. Just done with it, probably _forever_. 

Anyway... even though they'd both been women, all of it had felt like cheating on his feelings for Stiles. Those feelings hadn't gone away, no matter how much Derek had tried to ignore them, and he decided it would be safer to just stop trying to ignore them. At the rate he was going, the next person he tried to go out with would end up chaining him up in their basement and torturing him with electricity or sharp implements.

Ironically, this was the point at which Derek met a really nice guy who he might have been interested in if his heart wasn't still locked on Stiles. His name was Jordan Parrish and he was handsome and intelligent and was planning on going into a career in law enforcement. Derek was a little concerned that he might give Parrish the wrong idea, especially when they ended up sharing a table in the university coffee shop a couple of times a week, studying together, but so far Parrish hadn't made any move on him, had been friendly and unfailingly polite.

After Isaac's pissy attitude, Erica and Boyd's physical distance, and the disasters that had been Kate and Jennifer, this was refreshing. It felt like just what Derek needed, and he really wished that he wanted to date Parrish. 

But he didn't. He just couldn't.

Derek still had Stiles' shirt, even though it didn't smell like his younger stepbrother anymore. He'd packed it when he'd left for college, and it lived under his pillow, like some sort of weird child's comfort-blanket. He didn't, like, masturbate with it or anything bizarre like that. Just sometimes when he couldn't sleep, or if he woke from one of the nightmares Kate and Jennifer had given him, he stuck his hand under his pillow and clutched the material of Stiles' teeshirt in his hand. Holding on and thinking of home.

He missed Stiles so much it ached, and it did nothing to help knowing that it was his own fault that things had gone badly, that he wasn't emailing, texting, chatting with Stiles. 

In fact, that knowledge only made him feel worse.

At least his Mom was willing to give him updates on what Stiles was doing. She didn't even press Derek for what had happened anymore, though he suspected it was only because she was being careful not to be confrontational after what had happened with Kate. She didn't know about Jennifer, and Derek intended it to stay that way.

Thanks to Kate there were no questions about Derek's romantic prospects. Though, to be fair to his mother, Talia had never been the kind to push for anything like that. She'd always told Derek to just be himself and do what he enjoyed, and he'd find the person that was right for him; most likely doing the same thing, because shared interests were important.

That was probably what part of the problem had been with Kate and Jennifer. Derek had kind of forced himself to date them in an attempt at being normal and not the kind of guy who lusted after his barely-pubescent stepbrother. And just look where _that_ had gotten him.

Not that Derek blamed himself for what the two women had done to him. If he had, Erica would have flown out specifically to knock him on his ass. But it was kind of hard to think of it as being nothing but some kind of strange coincidence... and Derek _was_ the only common denominator.

Still, what could it have been other than a strange coincidence? There was an outside chance that Derek might have chosen poorly in a subconscious effort to sabotage himself when he was attempting to date someone who wasn't Stiles... but neither girl had seemed anything but normal when he had asked them out. So that was unlikely, and really he'd rather just forget it all and focus on his coursework, his friendship with Parrish, and keeping up with his Mom and Erica. 

Which was what he did.

The next thing Derek knew, far sooner than he was mentally or emotionally prepared for, it was time to go home for Thanksgiving. He _wanted_ to go. He missed his family and he was looking forward to spending time with Erica and Boyd that didn't involve a computer or phone screen. But thinking about seeing Stiles again... it made his stomach twist and his heart pound.

It wasn't that Derek didn't want to see Stiles. It was that he wanted to see him _too much_.

They'd only shared a bed for a few nights during that fateful vacation, and yet Derek missed sleeping next to Stiles. They hadn't had much time for sex, most of their days being taken up by their parents and grandparents, but they'd had as much as they could manage and it had been the best sex of Derek's life.

He just _missed_ Stiles, missed talking to him and bantering with him and laughing with him, and he was terrified of seeing him again. Because he'd hurt Stiles. Because he still wanted Stiles. And because he knew that after Thanksgiving was over he'd have to leave Stiles again. 

Well, whatever his feelings, not going home wasn't an option and Derek was all packed up and having a last coffee with Parrish, this time without the textbooks and papers on the table, just the two of them enjoying their drinks and one another's company.

Derek was still a little concerned about leading Parrish on, but that fear vanished when Parrish gave Derek a small smile and said, "You know, you should talk to them when you go home." 

Derek blinked, startled out of his twisting, knotting, largely uncomfortable thoughts, and met Parrish's clear green eyes. 

"Talk to who?" he asked, confused.

Parrish's mouth quirked in a rueful smile.

"Whoever you left behind in Beacon Hills," he said, reaching over and placing a hand on Derek's suddenly tense forearm while fixing him with an earnest, sympathetic stare that made Derek feel very nervous. "The person you're so obviously not over."

Derek grimaced before he could exert control over his face, and pulled his arm away, though not quickly enough to be offensive. At least, he didn't think so. And Parrish didn't seem offended.

"What if I said there was no one?" Derek bluffed, somehow unable to lie and straight-out say there was no one. Because there _was_ someone, and he couldn't pretend to himself there wasn't.

Parrish just gave him a _look_. It reminded Derek of Erica, and even a little of his mother. It was the look that said, _'Don't you try that bullshit on me.'_

"Fine." Derek slumped back in his chair and took a pensive sip of his flavored latte. "It's not.... It isn't that easy," he objected. "It's complicated."

Parrish hummed and raised his own cup for a drink. "Well, it's not any of my business," he belatedly said. "But as your friend, I have to say that I think you'll feel better if you deal with it."

Derek idly wondered if Parrish would still want to be his friend if he knew Derek had molested his thirteen year old stepbrother. Sure, Stiles had been an eagerly enthusiastic participant. But he was so young and Derek should have been the mature one and never started something that they shouldn't -- that he _couldn't_ \-- maintain.

"Maybe," he said. Because Jordan Parrish had some masterful puppy-dog eyes, and he was exerting their full influence on Derek right now. "I'll think about it."

Hell, he wouldn't be thinking about anything else, Derek knew. Not that this meant he _would_ be talking to Stiles. They'd said everything there was to say in the kitchen that day they had returned from visiting their grandparents. It hadn't been pleasant, but it had been necessary.

Parrish gave him a sidelong look, as though he suspected Derek was just humoring him, but he did him the honor of taking him at his word.

Derek appreciated that... even though he totally _was_ just humoring Parrish. 

+=+=+

Boyd and Erica weren't going to be arriving in Beacon Hills until a couple of days after Derek, and Isaac was going to visit Allison's family over the holiday. Derek's parents were there to pick him up at the airport, and he couldn't say he was surprised that Stiles wasn't with them... but he _was_ a little disappointed.

It felt so good to hug his Mom that Derek was almost afraid he was going to embarrass himself by bursting into tears, and he had trouble letting her go. He felt the lingering skeeviness of what Kate and Jennifer had done to him ease away, and all of the tension he hadn't realized he'd been carrying slid away from his shoulders.

He was _safe_ in his mother's arms, and then he finally moved to embrace his stepfather, breathing in the man's familiar cologne, and he thought he felt even more at home, if that was at all possible.

"Stiles couldn't come," his Mom said ruefully as they made their way to the baggage claim through the holiday crowds. His stepfather kept a protective hand on his shoulder and Derek wondered if it was merely because of Kate, or if maybe Erica had contacted his parents to tell them about Jennifer. He hoped not, on that latter. He'd made her promise she wouldn't.

"Oh?" Derek said, trying not to sound curious.

"Yeah," Mom continued, frowning a little and leaning into Derek as they came to a stop next to the rotating luggage. "He was entertaining a friend and couldn't get away."

Derek's brows rose at the strange emphasis he could hear in the way she spoke the word "entertaining" and from the way her lips curled in a smug little smirk when she said "friend" he could practically _hear_ the quotation marks. She definitely didn't mean Scott, because then she'd have said "Scott" and not "a friend", but Derek couldn't bring himself to ask for further clarification. 

Then his Dad was asking about _Derek's_ new friend -- not because he thought Parrish was a "friend", the way Mom had said "friend" but because he'd heard from Derek that Parrish was planning to go into law enforcement -- and to be perfectly honest Derek welcomed the distraction.

His parents kept him so busy talking about school and his classmates and friends that Derek had pretty much forgotten what his Mom had said about Stiles... so he was somewhat taken aback when he walked into the living room and was confronted by the sight of his stepbrother curled up on the sofa with a pretty blonde girl Stiles' own age.

He froze for a moment, just staring. And it wasn't even because Stiles _was with a girl_. Or, well, not completely. It was.... It was because....

It was because Stiles had finally figured out how to style his hair. It was because Stiles' face had slimmed down considerably since the last time Derek had seen him, his cheekbones even more pronounced. It was because Stiles was wearing Derek's teeshirt that he had never given back, and the collar was stretched wide over one of his shoulders from the way he was sitting, exposing one sharp collarbone where Derek could clearly remember leaving bite-marks and bruises. 

Then Stiles glanced up and untangled himself from his _girlfriend_ , unfolding himself as he stood from the sofa, and Derek found that he was literally unable to breathe for several moments, his heart giving an extra thump. 

Stiles was almost Derek's height now, and his shoulders were appreciably broader. He was still slender, wiry, and even more lanky than he had been before, but Derek was stunned at the change. He knew Stiles had turned fourteen while Derek had been away at college -- he'd sent him a card and gift -- and it hadn't been that long since Derek had last seen his younger stepbrother, but he'd completely forgotten how much difference even a few months could make at Stiles' age.

Derek had to firmly remind himself that, fourteen or not, Stiles was still too far too young for him to be thinking sexual thoughts about. Even though he was... Derek swallowed tightly and tried to keep a blank expression... even though he was probably having sex with the pretty blonde girl he'd been cuddling with on the sofa.

Derek had been so caught up with what he'd been experiencing at college -- understandably so, considering Kate and Jennifer -- he'd been so focused on how _he_ felt without Stiles around and had been trying so hard _not_ to think about Stiles, that it had never even occurred to him to think about how Stiles had been faring in the time between when Derek had left and now.

Yes, Derek had dated while he'd been at college, never mind how disastrous that had been. Yes, generally speaking he'd set Stiles loose with the intent that he form relationships with other kids his own age. Yes, Derek knew that Stiles was bisexual, the same as he was. 

And yet, somehow, Derek hadn't really thought about the implications of these facts, of what they might add up to.

Seeing Stiles cuddling on the sofa with a pretty girl his own age who was evidently his girlfriend brought it home for Derek in a way that made his heart clench and his stomach drop.

This had been what Derek had wanted.... So why did it hurt so much to see it happen?

"Derek!" 

And suddenly, unexpectedly, Derek was fielding an armful of enthusiastic stepbrother, and before he thought not to, he was wrapping Stiles up in a hug as tight and desperate as the ones he'd given his parents at the airport.

Stiles smelled exactly the way Derek remembered, the way he hadn't realized he'd missed like he would miss breathing if he lost his lungs, and he buried his face in the curve of Stiles' shoulder, unabashedly inhaling this scent. It was purely tactile, and he just... he just needed to feel Stiles solid and real in his arms, even though Stiles now belonged to someone else.

It felt weird to be able to embrace Stiles and not have to bend in order to press his face into Stiles' shoulder, but Derek thought he liked it. Stiles was warm and his arms and torso were hard with muscle in a way that Derek knew shouldn't turn him on as much as it did. He remembered his Mom saying that Stiles had taken up lacrosse at school, and that he was doing the yard work while Derek was gone, and he suspected that this combined with the obvious growth spurt his stepbrother had experienced was what had sculpted him into something that was even more perfect for Derek's tastes.

His disgusting, deeply perverted tastes.

"Hey, Derek."

He raised his head and tried not to glare at the girl on the sofa. She'd lifted a hand and was giving him a bright smile, obviously feeling familiar with him. After a confused moment Derek realized that this was because she was _Heather_. The girl Stiles had declared he couldn't date because he'd seen her naked.

Well, chances were that Stiles now considered that to be a good thing, and it was also likely that by this point they'd seen each other naked in a much more intimate scenario than bathing together when they were tiny.

That thought was more than enough to douse the burgeoning arousal Derek had been feeling at having Stiles' in his arms, and he let go and took a step back.

"Hello, Heather," he greeted through lips that felt numb, trying to smile at her in return because she was nice and in no way deserved his misplaced jealousy and enmity. After all, once upon a time, what felt like a hundred years ago, Derek had actually _suggested_ Stiles date her. "How are you?"

"Glad to be on break from school," she declared honestly, still smiling and looking pretty and soft and pale, nothing like Derek and everything that Stiles should have. Derek hated her a little and he hated himself even more for hating her.

Stiles had stepped away a beat after Derek, and he was smiling too, but it was more muted than Heather's and he seemed a little conflicted. Derek figured it was probably because his hug had been his instinctive reaction to Derek's return home, but now he was remembering how Derek had broken his heart and deserted him, and Derek would be shocked if there wasn't some remaining bitterness....

On the other hand, Stiles was the one who had very clearly moved on. Derek shouldn't be jealous, not when he'd been the one to push Stiles away, and not when he'd tried dating while he'd been at college, but he couldn't help his instinctive emotional reaction.

"I think we're all grateful for the break," Derek forced himself to say, because Heather was nice, and if Stiles was dating her then Derek needed to nice to her. "Though I'll bet Stiles has already finished all his assignments."

"The first day we had off, same as always," Heather giggled, and Derek pondered the way she was pretty much his polar opposite. And yet they both _got_ Stiles, and as long as she made Stiles happy....

"Hey," Stiles grumped, returning to the sofa and flopping next to her. "Are you calling me a nerd?"

"Not to your face," Heather snickered. The two of them gravitated together as though they each had magnets in their bodies, and Derek tried not to betray the fact that there was chilled sweat trickling down his back underneath his teeshirt.

He deserved this, he told himself. He should never have started anything with Stiles. It didn't matter how much Stiles had wanted it; Derek had been the older one, the one who should have known better. Heather was a much more suited match for Stiles; better for him in every way.

None of that made Derek feel better about seeing Stiles with someone who wasn't him, really. But it did help with his lingering feeling of guilt to see that Stiles had moved on.

Right now, Derek would grasp for whatever straws he could get his hands on. That was the only way he was going to get through this.

"Well, I'm gonna go unpack," he said awkwardly. He didn't glance back as he headed for his bedroom, because he was pretty sure that neither one of them with going to be able to drag their attention away from the other to watch him go.

And that was the way it should be.

+=+=+

Stiles watched the flex of Derek's ass in his jeans as he walked away, unable to help himself. In his defense, it was really amazing view and Heather was probably looking at it too. She was a smart girl, after all.

To be perfectly honest, Stiles had conflicted emotions regarding Derek's return home.

It wasn't like he could just forget about the sex they'd had, and easiness and affection that had grown between them even before that. He also couldn't forget about the way Derek had stripped all that away for what was basically no reason, completely wrecking the memory of them being happy together.

But Stiles had _missed_ Derek while he'd been away at college. Even though Stiles loved his parents intensely, the house had felt disturbingly empty without Derek in it. Stiles had thought that not having his stepbrother around might be a relief, but it hadn't been. He'd felt just as bereft as he had before Derek had left for college, and even more empty, as though there was a hole in his life that nothing else could fill.

Scott had tried. He was a good friend and so of course he'd noticed right away that Stiles had been deeply upset over something. He'd tried to get out of Stiles what it was, but of course he couldn't share. Scott would probably have understood, actually, because even if he didn't like Derek very much he loved Stiles like a brother. But Stiles hadn't been willing to take that chance. Even one wrong word by Scott could have gotten back to Mrs. McCall, and then she'd have been parentally required to say something to Stiles' parents, and, well. That could only have made everything a million times worse.

So Stiles hadn't been able to tell Scott why he was depressed, but Scott done his best to be there for him anyway. Then Kira Yukimura had happened. 

Stiles didn't resent Kira. He actually really, really, _really_ liked Kira. It was impossible not to like Kira! She was a lot like Stiles, in fact, which made it feel a little weird for Stiles when Scott fell head over heels in love with her. But she was different in a lot of ways, too, so that was okay. Mainly because she was a girl... but also she was adorably cute, and she tended to be a lot more bubbly than Stiles, whose normal tendency leaned more toward sarcasm and cynicism.

At any rate, Scott tried hard to still be a good friend, but most of his free time was eaten up by his budding relationship with his first girlfriend. And Stiles was happy for him, he really was. But that left him lonely again. He didn't really have any other friends.

Well, but then he and Heather had reconnected. And they'd managed to come to a mutually beneficial understanding completely separate from their friendship. Heather was so cool, and Stiles really wished that he could say he was actually in love with her.

But after seeing Scott and Kira, after spending a lot of time with Heather, and after spending nights lying awake in his bed, Stiles had reached the obvious conclusion that he was definitely, truly in love with Derek.

Which _sucked_. Because not only had Derek dumped him, but he'd come right out and said that he'd thought Stiles had only banged him because he was available, and in so doing he'd kind of implied that this was why he'd been willing to bang Stiles.

In his more hopeful moments, Stiles thought that this last wasn't true, he thought that Derek might have feelings for him...? But then he remembered that Derek had pushed him away, that he'd broken things off completely and said that he regretted it all, and Stiles knew that Derek could do better than him without even trying.

It hurt, and Stiles wished there was some magical way to make it stop hurting, to force himself to stop thinking about his stupidly gorgeous, completely untouchable older stepbrother and what they'd very briefly had together....

But he couldn't. And now Derek was home from college, even if it was for a short visit, and seeing him again just broke Stiles open.

He'd jumped up and flown into Derek's arms before he'd thought not to, and Derek had hugged him back. Stiles didn't feel any desire to take that one moment back. He'd _missed_ Derek, and while there was a loud portion of him that didn't want to forgive Derek for the hurt he'd caused Stiles, there was an even louder portion that needed to be wrapped in Derek's arms, feeling his solid heat and smelling his mingled cologne and clean skin.

It had felt like coming home, which was silly because Stiles wasn't the one who had left.

But once he was moving away from Derek, all the bad feelings came back to Stiles and he knew that he couldn't completely forgive his stepbrother for how much he'd hurt him. Not without an apology, anyway, and he wasn't going to get that.

Yeah, okay, Derek had apologized to him, that awful afternoon in the kitchen. But he'd been apologizing for the wrong things, saying all the wrong things, and Stiles still hated that the conversation had happened and he hated that he could remember pretty much all of it, word for word.

Derek retreated, not that Stiles could blame him for wanting to go unpack, while Stiles joined Heather on the sofa again. And she was warm too, but she was soft and she smelled like a girl; sweet and uncomplicated. Stiles had thought he was happy enough to curl up with her, knowing that she cared about him just as much as he cared about her, but now that he had a fresh memory of Derek's body and scent to compare her to....

Well, it wasn't the same at all, and Stiles knew which of the two he preferred.

He'd slept in Derek's bed a few times after he'd left for college, while the sheets had still smelled like him. But then their Mom had laundered all Derek's bedclothes and Stiles had decided he was being a weird, pathetic creeper, and so he hadn't been back in Derek's room since.

"Do you want me to go home?" Heather asked, running her fingers soothingly through Stiles' hair and raising her eyebrows. Sometimes Stiles wondered if she'd guessed at his feelings for his stepbrother, but even if she had he was confident that she wouldn't say anything, and he certainly wasn't going to say anything, so the subject was verboten.

Like with Scott, it was safer and better than way.

"Not really," Stiles answered honestly, because having Heather around was comforting, especially when Derek felt so much like a stranger. Not the way he had been before they'd begun talking and hanging out previous to having sex. But now he was someone who'd been gone and who'd had lots of life experiences that Stiles didn't even know about, and it felt _wrong_. "But you probably should."

Heather nodded, not offended in the slightest, and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek before rising. 

"See you later," she said, pausing at the door as he saw her off, and he tried to smile. "Probably not until we're back in school, though."

Stiles nodded. Heather's extended family would be arriving for Thanksgiving, and that was a big part of the reason he'd stayed behind and hadn't gone to the airport; because it would be the last time he'd be able to spend time with her for days. 

Of course, another part of the reason was because he hadn't been sure whether he'd want to hug Derek or punch him in the face. Seeing his stepbrother in the flesh had answered that question, but just in case it had been the punch, Stiles had thought home was a better format than a high traffic public area.

Not that Stiles would actually have tried to punch Derek, of course. But he wouldn't have been able to disguise his desire to do so, and so things could have gotten a little dicey. Heather had the valuable ability to calm Stiles down, and so he'd stayed on the sofa with her and let Derek come home to him.

Well, Derek was here now. And Heather was gone. It was time for Stiles to confront and deal with his complicated emotions where his older stepbrother was concerned.

No, not really! Stiles was a firm believer in ignoring a problem until it went away. Maybe if he pretended things were normal long enough, he'd actually start to feel as though they _were_ normal.

Not that things could ever go back to the way they had been before. As much as he might wish otherwise, Stiles was well aware of that much. Not when he knew what it felt like to suck Derek's dick, to have Derek's tongue in his mouth and in his _butthole_. Not when he could remember how it had felt to cuddle together on the bed, lounging in the afterglow.

And that was what Stiles really missed, even more than the sex. Sure, the sex had been incredible, so much better than masturbation could ever be. But being held in Derek's arms, curling up against his chest, spooning together in a way that made that word so perfectly apt... Stiles _missed_ all of that, desperately.

He and Heather cuddled. They pressed close together on the sofa, like they'd been when Derek had gotten home, Heather trying to calm Stiles with her steady presence. They'd snuggled on her bed, Stiles wrapped in her arms and surrounded by the scents of her body spray and the dryer sheets her mother used. But it hadn't been the same as being held by Derek, at all.

For one thing, Heather was about the same size as Stiles, actually smaller, and while she made him feel _safe_ , she couldn't make him feel _protected_. There was a distinct difference. She had boobs, too, which made cuddling a little weird. Stiles liked boobs; he was bisexual, not gay. But he found that being pressed up against those two soft mounds when his brain was wired to expect a broad chest with hard pectorals to be a little disturbing.

Heather didn't smell right, either. She smelled _good_ , and Stiles was able to pick out her personal scent underneath the light layer of her chosen personal scent. But she didn't smell like sweat and sex and teenage male and salt and lingering leather and all the other jumble of things that clung to Derek's smooth skin.

Stiles scowled, making his way up to his bedroom, fingers clutching at the banister hard enough to make his knuckles whiten. Heather just wasn't Derek, she never would be, and it _wasn't_ as though Stiles had tried to replace Derek with her, but....

But now that Derek was home -- albeit only for a short break -- and Stiles had spontaneous hugged him, he was aware all over again of _how much he'd missed Derek_. 

And that kind of sucked. But Derek had made it clear that they were through, and so there really wasn't much of anything Stiles could do about that.

Which sucked even more.

+=+=+

Things were a little awkward after Derek came home, but not as much so as Stiles would have expected. 

Part of the benefit of Stiles' usual method of dealing with unpleasant things being to ignore them until they went away, was that he was adept at switching his brain off and ignoring the reality of the situation.

During the day, anyway. At night, it was a different matter. That was what Stiles lay in bed and replayed the awful conversation they'd had in the kitchen, dwelling over how shitty it had made him feel, wallowing in angst and unrequited emotions.... He also, conversely, found himself visualizing how sexy Derek had looked at various points earlier in the day, his dick getting hard as he lusted after his older stepbrother....

And Stiles didn't want to, but he found himself jerking off more and more often, knowing that Derek was in his own bedroom just down the hall. It felt weird and kind of wrong to do so when Stiles knew how Derek felt about him and about what they'd done, but he couldn't help himself. Derek was just too damned hot.

Stiles didn't bring that into their day-to-day interactions, of course. He mostly let their parents take up Derek's attention, spending his time texting Scott or Heather, playing his online games, and generally avoiding Derek without appearing to avoid him.

That was easier than it sounded, but all of this came to nothing the afternoon that Stiles got home from hanging out at the McCall house for a few hours to find a box sitting on his bed, where none had been before.

He approached it with a disturbing sense of deja vu. It wasn't lube, thankfully, and there was no bow on top. But it _was_ a box of condoms, and Stiles felt his heart thump against his breastbone in a leap of hope.

Stiles snatched the box up, telling himself that this couldn't be what it looked like. He _wanted_ it to be.... But there was just no way.

Mom and Dad were out buying the turkey and the supplies for Thanksgiving dinner, because they always waited until almost the last minute -- Dad claimed things were fresher that way and Mom actually _liked_ fighting the crowds at the grocery store because she was a crazy woman -- so there was no one home but Stiles and Derek. That was good, Stiles thought in a haze of confusion and hope and disbelief and potential anger and a lingering sense of dread that he couldn't shake, as he stormed down the hall and banged into Derek's room without knocking.

Hey, if Derek could invade Stiles' room, Stiles could invade Derek's. He was dead certain that it hadn't been either of their parents who'd left the condoms; mainly because they'd already given him some along with the safe sex lecture they'd delivered when he'd started hanging out with Heather. So if Derek had been in Stiles' room, then Stiles had no compunctions about opening Derek's door and walking right in.

Derek was sitting at his desk, his laptop open, and it looked as though he was working on an email or something, but he slammed it closed as soon as he realized Stiles was in his room, and Stiles didn't know whether to be flattered that he was about to get Derek's full attention, or worried that Derek didn't want him to see whatever he'd been writing.

Mostly, though, he wasn't about to let himself be distracted from his objective.

"What is this?" he asked, brandishing the box of condoms. He supposed he looked a bit manic, but to be honest he didn't really care. 

"Those are condoms," Derek said, scowling at the box and not meeting Stiles' eyes, which actually didn't surprise Stiles at all. It still sucked though.

"Duh," Stiles snapped, shaking the box again, trying not to flush at the rustle of the individually packaged prophylactics inside. "I know that, Derek. I'm just wondering--" he stopped and drew in a deep breath, putting it out there. "I'm just wondering if you managed to pry your head out of your ass and this is your lame-ass version of an invite."

"What?" _Now_ Derek met his gaze, but he looked confounded, his thick brows creased in a heavy frown. He looked more constipated than deadly sexy, and Stiles clung to that fact because he suddenly suspected that he was about to become very, very angry with his stepbrother. "No, those are for... I want you to.... You should be being safe with Heather."

"Oh my God!" Stiles exploded, flinging his arms wide, and the box of condoms flew out of his hand and crashed into something on Derek's bookshelf, but Stiles didn't care because that urge to punch Derek in his stupid, pretty face was on the rise again. "Oh my _God_!"

Derek shifted uncomfortably where he sat, and Stiles belatedly wished he'd lobbed the box at Derek's _head_ , but it was too late now.

"Seriously?" Sties spat, fury winging through his veins, his hands fisting, chest heaving. "Head still firmly entrenched up your ass, I see!"

Derek glared at him as though, what, Stiles had hurt his feelings? If Stiles _could_ have, he _would_ have, because Derek was being a complete asshole! And Stiles had very briefly thought that things might have magically gotten better between them. He should have known better.

"Look, I'm happy for you--" Derek started, every word clearly paining him.

"You don't look happy," Stiles interrupted ruthlessly, storming further into the room and slamming the door closed behind him. He wasn't going to pull any verbal punches to spare Derek's feelings, and he wasn't leaving this room until they'd cleared the air. Ignoring things hadn't helped the matter, and there was no better time than now, with their parents out of the house for the next couple of hours at least, to hash this out.

"You _should_ be with someone your age," Derek persisted, because he was an actual clueless dumbass who had no idea of how to read and deal with someone else's emotions. "And Heather is sweet, she's a good person, she's pretty."

"You're an idiot," Sties contributed, because that fact might have somehow slipped past Derek. Stiles wasn't blind; he could see that Derek actually _wasn't_ happy for him, that every word was costing him something.

And that... _that_ gave Stiles some faint hope. He didn't want to have hope, because every time he did, Derek painfully dashed it. But it looked to him as though Derek actually still had feelings for him, as though the sex they'd had hadn't just been because Stiles was there and eager. Maybe Derek had cared about him and still cared? 

Derek looked angry now, but Stiles was on the offensive, and that wasn't a position he was willing to relinquish. At least not without a lot more than Derek was giving him right now.

"You don't get to have it both ways, Derek," he said, deciding that it was better to assume that Derek still cared about him than to ask and risk being lied to right to his face. "You can't cut me loose and tell me you don't want me, then not expect me to get together with someone else!"

"But that's what you did," Derek blurted, and then seemed to realize he might have given too much away, adding gruffly, "And that's a _good_ thing."

Stiles snorted scornfully, walking over and plopping down on Derek's bed. Unless or until Derek told him point blank that he didn't have any feeling for Stiles, he was going to operate under the assumption that Derek hadn't just been fucking around with him, and that he really had dumped Stiles because he'd felt like it was the best thing to do for _Stiles_ , not himself.

Which was so stupid that Stiles couldn't even, but he didn't have the right words to express that reality to Derek. Not quite yet, anyway, so he tried a different tack.

"Heather's a good friend," he started, and tried not to smirk as he watched Derek's mouth twist bitterly. His confidence was growing with each moment, because he was growing ever more certain that Derek still cared about him and still wanted him. 

"Friendship is a good basis for a relationship," Derek inserted, the words sounding mangled and stiff.

Stiles actually laughed out loud. He was still angry at Derek and hurt by this whole situation, but he sensed an eminent victory. As long as he didn't completely screw things up, that was. Oh, please let him not completely screw this up....

"If that was the case," he snickered, rolling his eyes broadly, "Then Scott and I were meant to be. He's dating Kira now, though. And Heather is... helping me out."

He hadn't thought Derek's face could look even more as though he'd swallowed a lemon; he'd been wrong.

"Stiles, sex without love is--"

"Oh my God, really?!" Stiles interrupted again, insulted by the disapproving tone of Derek's voice. "Heather is just my friend, Derek, you completely and utter jackass!"

"What?" Derek blinked, obviously a bit taken aback.

Stiles sighed heavily. Clearly he was going to have to spell this out for his older stepbrother.

"She's my beard, Derek. Duh."

"Your _what_?" Derek asked, leaning forward in his chair, his brows doing complicated things. He looked less constipated and more fascinated, which Stiles took as a good sign, but he also looked confused, and that was just ridiculous.

"Are you unfamiliar with the concept?" Stiles asked, his own brows arching. He was ready to give Derek the textbook description if he needed to, but he didn't think Derek could have made it as far into his life as he had without stumbling across the expression at least once.

Derek glared at him, and Stiles kind of thought that answered his question, even before Derek spoke.

"Mom and Dad know you're bi," he grouched, still glaring at Stiles as though he'd somehow offended him. "Why the hell would you need a beard?"

Stiles sighed again, slumping back on Derek's bed in a relaxed manner that he wasn't really feeling. He had to put on a good show, though, if he wanted to talk Derek around to his way of seeing things. Like the fact that Derek _hadn't_ taken advantage of him, and that they should still be boning.

"Look," he said patiently while Derek scowled at him. "Heather's doing me a favor and she doesn't mind, so stop acting like one of or both of us is doing something so awful, okay?"

Derek grimaced, looking as though he wanted to protest that assessment, but he really couldn't. To be honest, Stiles had mainly wanted to use Heather as a beard so that his parents wouldn't wonder what had happened to his crush on Lydia Martin. Since his attention had become completely devoted to Derek, Lydia just hadn't held the same appeal for Stiles.... And presenting Mom and Dad with a plausible reason for his loss of interest had just been easier than letting them wonder and possibly guess about him and Derek.

Not that they would have been likely to, but Stiles had a healthy amount of paranoia, and while he didn't ascribe to Derek's belief that what they were doing was "wrong", he did know their parents wouldn't exactly approve if they found out.

He didn't want to tell Derek all this, though, because then he might start up with the whole "we can't do this anymore, Stiles" shtick, and Stiles desperately wanted to avoid dipping back into that mindset. Fortunately for him, he had a secondary but also important reason for publicly misrepresenting his relationship with Heather.

So he continued, giving Derek that second reason first. "Mostly Heather is pretending to date me so the kids at school stop calling me a freak and a loser." He shifted uncomfortably, frowning, because what he was saying was one hundred percent true and it had sucked. "That was really starting to get old."

"Was that Jackson?" Derek asked, growling and clenching his hands into tight fists. 

Stiles' heart jumped, and he couldn't help grinning, because he just loved the way Derek got all defensive over him. Also, it was nice to fantasize about Derek popping Jackson in the stupid perfect nose.

"I think he still resents the crush I used to have on Lydia," Stiles mused. "Or maybe he's insulted that I got over it? Like, he feels rejected by proxy? I don't even know; don't ask me to psychoanalyze the inner workings of Jackson Whittemore's scary mind. I'm pretty sure he's a lab construct who's just pretending to be human. He's not very good at it, and I honestly can't see what Lydia sees in him; she could do so much better."

They were getting off the subject, though, and Stiles didn't want to spend any more time talking about his former crush and her douchebag of a boyfriend.

"Anyway." He shrugged awkwardly. "Some of the kids were saying stuff, Heather is an angel who values my happiness, she's unattached right now, and so we just act like she's my girlfriend. _Act_ like it," he emphasized, because Derek probably missed his pointed use of that word. "We don't lie and say we're dating. We just do things together and people assume."

Derek looked... conflicted. Stiles was poised, ready to swoop in for the kill, but he was uncertain of when he'd have the opportunity and what form it would take. Still, they were _talking_ , which was more than they'd done since that crappy day in the kitchen.

"Mom's deliriously happy," Stiles sighed, feeling a little bad about deceiving his stepmother, even though he'd never come out and lied to her. "Mostly, though, it's nice to have someone to hang out with while Scott is off playing smoochy-face with Kira."

Stiles had actually given Scott the condoms his parents had shoved on him, laughing his ass off at how red his best friend's face had turned. Scott and Kira hadn't used them yet -- Stiles knew because he'd found the unopened box in Scott's top dresser drawer the other day -- and Stiles was proud of them both. Because even though he wanted Derek to plow him so much it ached, he felt as though Scott and Kira were both way too young to be having "real" sex. 

Yes, Stiles was a hypocrite. At least he acknowledged and admitted it, if only to himself. Also, he was pretty sure he was more mature than Scott, and he definitely couldn't get pregnant the way Kira could.

"So you and Heather...."

"Are just _friends_ ," Stiles emphasized, a little hurt because how could Derek think he'd gotten over him so quickly? How could Derek think Stiles could be with someone else?

Stiles wasn't stupid. He'd heard about Kate Argent from his parents. He knew that Derek had dated in college. But he also knew it had only been one date before this Argent chick had gotten obsessed and gone all "Fatal Attraction" on Derek, and so he was willing to let that slide. It still stung, but Stiles kind of thought Derek had forced himself to do it in an attempt to forget about Stiles.

That was what he _wanted_ to think, anyway. Because he didn't want to assume that Derek was completely over Stiles and what they'd had. He _couldn't_ assume that, for the sake of his own mental wellbeing.

Derek still looked lost, so Stiles sighed again and sat back up, curling his legs under him. "Evidently I'm now, like, her gay best friend, if that's a thing?" he explained, waving a hand vaguely. "Even though she knows I'm bi, not actually gay." 

Derek's expression said he wasn't buying what Stiles was selling, but it was the truth so Stiles persisted. "Look, I don't know how it works," he confessed, spreading his hands, "But she said something about it when I told her I wanted the D."

Stiles stiffened as Derek's face took on that panicky, wide-eyed look that he hated so much to see directed at him.

"Don't worry," Stiles said scathingly, feeling his heart hurt where it was beating rapidly against his ribcage. "I didn't tell her _whose_ D I wanted."

Derek's mouth twisted and Stiles found himself gnawing on his own lower lip. 

"I still want your D," he said, just to clarify. "Look, I still don't know what bug you got up your butt, but whatever you were thinking, you were wrong. Did you honestly think I was going to just go my merry way and get a girlfriend or boyfriend who wasn't you?"

"I--"

Derek's frozen expression said that he had expected just that, and Stiles snarled, feeling the rising urge to slam his way back out of Derek's room. But they had resolved exactly nothing, except that Derek now knew Stiles wasn't having sex with Heather, and so he stuck it out.

"Oh, screw you, Derek," he said, and winced because it came out sounding tired and sad instead of angry and forceful. "What we were doing wasn't just sex and it _wasn't_ just because you were there. You're really insulting the fuck out of me when you say that."

"I never said that...." Derek looked uncertain, though, and Stiles wondered if he could recall every single word they had exchanged as flawlessly as Stiles could.

"No, you didn't," Stiles allowed, because in all honesty Derek _hadn't_. "But you implied it pretty fucking heavily."

While Derek sat there looking thoughtful and tragic, Stiles dragged in a deep breath and tried to calm himself. Swearing wasn't going to get him anywhere, no matter how good it felt when he was faced with Derek's obtuse stubbornness. 

"Derek," he said, and he really hadn't meant that to come out sounding so plaintive. He straightened his spine and squared his shoulders, putting his feet down on the floor and meeting Derek's eyes steadily. "I understand why you pushed me away. I do. You felt like a pervert, and maybe to other people you might have looked like one."

Derek flinched, looking as though he was in actual pain, and Stiles forged onward, because he didn't want to hurt Derek, he wanted the opposite of that.

"But whatever you were thinking it was? It wasn't. Okay? You weren't just some experiment, you weren't just convenient, or whatever stupid idea you've convinced yourself of. I wanted to have sex with you because you're hot like burning, yeah, but also because I _like_ you. A lot. We were... I thought we were getting along better? And I liked that. I want that back again. All of it, including the sex."

Stiles couldn't help adding that last, even though he was well aware that it might be pushing too much too soon. He was terrified; he was putting his feelings out there, bold and unmistakable, and setting himself up to be completely destroyed by Derek if he chose to reject him again.

But dancing around the issue had gotten them exactly nowhere. And while Stiles had _thought_ he'd made his feelings pretty well known, evidently he had not if Derek was still misinterpreting things.

It was one of the scariest things Stiles had ever done, but he needed to do it.

"I really like you, Derek," he said, trying to sound confident but the words coming out kind of shy and awkward. He felt like a dumb kindergartener, but he couldn't bring himself to use the _other_ "L" word, even though he kind of thought that he did.... That was too much, though, and if he told Derek he loved him and Derek rejected that, Stiles was pretty sure he would never recover and might even die from the pain.

"I...." Derek looked conflicted, and Stiles felt like bursting into tears or throwing up, but he didn't give up all hope. This wasn't like when he'd told Derek he was happy to have him as a stepbrother and then felt rejected when Derek didn't even try to say anything complimentary back. This was more, it was bigger, and Stiles liked to think he was more mature now, even though most people would say he was "only" fourteen.

He knew how he felt about Derek, though, even if it felt too big and too real for his skin to contain.

"You don't have to say it," he assured Derek, trying to be as strong and steady as he could even though his heart felt like a hummingbird and his hands were shaking and he was sweating. "But I _know_ you like me too, at least a little. You get angry when Jackson picks on me, and you kissed me like you meant it, and maybe you're bad at emotions, but I _know_ you care."

"I care," Derek said, his brows lowered, but he looked earnest and serious, not angry or conflicted, which Stiles took as a good sign. "Of course I care about you, Stiles."

Stiles nodded jerkily. He hadn't dared hope he'd hear Derek say that, actually speak the words, and yet now that he had, Stiles wasn't sure that they were enough.

"Do you--"

He cut himself off, sucking in a breath and wringing his hands in his laps, trying to be rational and reasonable about this, not push for more. He really needed to make sure Derek knew he wasn't some dumb kid with a crush on his older stepbrother just because he was hot. He had to not be needy.

"I like you," Derek blurted, startling Stiles, because he really hadn't been expecting that confession. He'd kind of hoped... but he really, really hadn't _expected_.

"You don't have to say it because I did, Derek," Stiles started, but then it was Derek's turn to throw his hands up and exclaim.

"Jesus, Stiles! You got mad that one time because I didn't say I was happy you were my stepbrother when you told me that, and now you're gonna get upset because I _did_ reciprocate?"

"No," Stiles said indignantly. "I'm not upset over that! And anyway, I'm more mature than I was then," he sniffed scornfully; mostly at his younger self. Then he couldn't help adding, "I only want you to say it if you mean it."

"I mean it," Derek said. "I didn't.... Stiles, I never meant for you to feel rejected. And I _never_ said that I thought you didn't care."

Stiles shrugged awkwardly. "You sure made it sound that way. There weren't a lot of other ways to interpret the way you pushed me away. Trust me, I thought about it a _lot_. All the time ever since it happened."

"I didn't handle it well," Derek said ruefully. "I was just trying to do the right thing and I was kind of an asshole about it."

"I miss you," Stiles admitted honestly, his voice small and hesitant. "I don't mean I miss the sex. I just miss you. I miss talking to you. I miss your hugs. I miss making you laugh. I miss _you_."

"I'm sorry," Derek said earnestly, and Stiles swallowed, hoping Derek wasn't apologizing in preparation to shooting Stiles down again, but then he continued, "I'm so sorry if I ever made you feel unwanted or rejected, Stiles. That wasn't my intention. I've missed you too. So much."

Stiles nodded, and he suddenly felt as though the weight of the world had lifted off his shoulders. Suddenly he felt happy and optimistic, and while he and Derek still had a lot to hash out, he knew for sure that Derek _liked_ him, and Derek had actually apologized for what had hurt Stiles, instead of just the stupid stuff he hadn't needed to apologize for.

"Can I get a hug?" he asked, rising and standing, making as though to approach Derek then stopping himself and shifting awkwardly. "Just a hug, I promise. I won't grope you or try to kiss you or anything."

"And then we can go downstairs and play some Wii," Derek offered, and Stiles was going to take that olive branch and run with it. 

"Oh, so you feel like having your ass owned by me after all?" he asked archly, and then laughed at the disgruntled look on Derek's face. That had been pushing the boundaries of where they were a little and he needed to rein it back in. "Okay, yeah," he agreed cheerfully. "That sounds good."

Derek stood as well, and they moved together, Derek's arms folding warm and strong around Stiles' body. 

"I apologize in advance if I pop a boner," Stiles said into Derek's shoulder, holding on tight in case Derek freaked out and tried to escape. "Just ignore it, okay?" 

He thought it was a good sign that Derek just laughed a little uncomfortably and continued to hold him close. 

_Ignore it... for now,_ Stiles tacked on, but only in his head. He knew better than to say that aloud. Still, he felt like he was a lot closer to being where he wanted, needed to be.

And for right now, being held in Derek's warm embrace was close enough.

+=+=+

Things seemed to be going okay between Derek and Stiles by the time Derek headed back to school after his break. 

Their parents had clearly been thrilled that their boys were talking again during Thanksgiving dinner, though they tried not to draw attention to this fact; possibly for fear that either Stiles or Derek would get contrary if they made a fuss.

Everyone was glad that things were back to normal. The good normal, that was. Derek didn't think anyone was more grateful for it than he was, but from the wide smile on Stiles' face and how often he laughed, he suspected Stiles might be just as grateful for the change as Derek was. 

And that made him feel bad, remembering how subdued and depressed Stiles had been before he'd left for college, knowing that it all been Derek's fault. He didn't see any other way things could have gone, though. He'd _had_ to shut down the thing between them, for Stiles' own good.

But it made a difference to know that it had hurt Stiles so much, to know that Stiles had been so invested. Derek still felt like he'd been a pervert to have touched Stiles the way he'd done... but it helped to know that Stiles had acted the way he had because of his feelings for Derek, not just because of his budding fascination with Derek's face and body.

Derek still didn't think they could go back to the way they had been, sexually. He didn't think they _should_ , no matter how much he missed it. He had himself convinced that it was good enough that they were back to comfortably conversing, to being brothers and friends. 

Then he went back to school -- with hugs goodbye from _everyone_ in the family this time -- and Stiles started sending him filthy texts.

It started out small and built up incrementally, so that Derek didn't really feel as though he'd had any good time to put his foot down and say "quit it". By the time Stiles started texting Derek pictures of his hard cock, it seemed like it was too late to shut it down.

And maybe Derek didn't want it to stop....

Stiles had been perfectly circumspect before Derek had left. They'd talked, joked, laughed, sniped at each other without any real intent. Derek had stored up all of these exchanges, and he'd looked forward to continuing in this vein once he was back at college.

Which was what _had_ happened. Now that they'd sort of made amends, Stiles felt free to send Derek texts complaining about the weather, telling him about his day, sharing off-color jokes that Scott had botched the delivery of....

But then things had gotten a little more personal. Derek woke up one morning to a text that Stiles had sent in the middle of the night.

**[I miss sleeping in your arms]**

This had made Derek heat up, his heart thumping, his chest, ears, and cheeks burning. He wanted to say "me too" but he couldn't bring himself to type in the words. He shouldn't encourage Stiles....

But it had turned out that Stiles hadn't needed the encouragement.

**[wish you were here]**

That was innocuous enough. But the very next text, sent less than an hour later, was considerably more blatant; whether taken in conjuncture with his last text or taken alone.

**[im horny]**

Derek definitely ignored that one, because what else could he do? The next text from Stiles involved whining about Jackson and about having to eat the crappy school lunch because he'd left his carefully packed leftovers at home, so Derek replied to that text and pretended that Stiles hadn't shared his horniness with him.

His sense of relief didn't last long, because Stiles kept them coming, each text a little more revealing, and a little more graphic than the text before it. 

**[Hate sleeping alone, wish you were here]**

They'd only shared a bed for a few nights, had spent the rest of their lives up to that point sleeping alone, but Derek knew what Stiles meant. He felt the same way, but he couldn't say so. 

**[miss yr stupid perfect face]**

**[I miss the way you smell Derek]**

**[miss the way you taste]**

Those were all interspersed with an enthusiastic review of a movie Stiles had seen, venting about something their Mom had done to piss Stiles off, and a really dumb riddle that had made Derek literally roll his eyes.

**[your hands felt so good around my wrists...]**

**[not as good as your tongue in my ass, though]**

After Derek read those two, sent in quick succession, his cock was hard and he was unable to will it away. It brought up some really hot visuals, and Derek remembered how good those things had felt to him as well. Also, it might seem like a small point to someone else, but he thought it was even hotter that Stiles' had used the word "ass" instead of "butt". It just... it made him seem like a little bit less of a child. Stiles might have only recently turned fourteen, but he was growing up.

Derek still didn't reply, but that didn't stop Stiles. He kept going.

**[I wanted to try rimming the other way, Derek.]**

**[I mean me putting my tongue in your ass]**

Derek jerked off helplessly after reading that, and he almost wasn't ashamed of himself for doing so. He was just lucky he was alone in his room when he received those two texts and not in class, because he was sure that he couldn't have rid himself of his insistent hard-on _without_ jerking it.

**[miss the taste of yr jizz]**

If Stiles had been a college student, Derek would have assumed he was texting drunk. But he doubted Stiles was indulging in underage drinking, and to be fair, most of the filthy texts came through in the midnight hour or later, when Stiles was probably curled up in bed, sated after masturbating, and feeling bold.

Derek gave in to temptation and just let himself jerk off to the texts Stiles was sending him, letting his imagination run wild, allowing himself to recall how it had felt to frot against Stiles, to suck him off, to lick his way into his asshole, to screw between his thighs....

He still didn't reply in kind. He _couldn't_. If he had and anyone ever read through Stiles' text logs Derek would be fucked, and not in the way Stiles kept harping on about. That and... well, Derek couldn't think of how he could reply without Stiles thinking that he had won the argument.

Derek wasn't sure Stiles _hadn't_ won the argument, couldn't be sure he'd be able to keep his hands off his younger stepbrother when he went home for winter break, but he knew he had to try. He couldn't be complicit in this, had to remain strong.

Even though he was _not_ strong and was totally jerking off at least once a day to Stiles' explicit texts and the photos of his leaking cock that he started sending.

Derek couldn't... he couldn't seem to stop himself... but he couldn't let Stiles know he was doing it.

**[want you in me]**

Stiles sent that text along with an attached photo of his asshole, puffy pink and glistening with lube, taken from an obviously awkward angle, but in very clear invitation, and Derek barely had time to palm himself through his jeans before he was coming, hard, phone clenched tightly in his other hand.

And then, after that one, there was... nothing. Silence. Not even the trivial texts that Stiles had still been sending during the daylight hours.

Derek wasn't ashamed to say that he panicked and called his Mom.

"Is Stiles okay?" he asked, after they'd exchanged hellos, setting his mind at ease at least a little that nothing too disastrous had happened. His mother sounded calm enough, anyway, though happy to hear from him.

"He's fine," she assured Derek, and he huffed out a silent breath of relief. He was still worried, because this sudden silence wasn't normal. He usually had at least three texts a day, aside from the pervy late-night sallies, texts that he actually answered in kind -- thankfully the whole family had unlimited texting -- but right now he was getting nothing but silence, even though he'd texted Stiles a few direct questions recently.

"I mean, he's seemed a little down the last couple of days," Talia continued, sending Derek's anxiety ratcheting up again. "But he gets that way sometimes, so I figured it would just pass. He's been happier lately.... Why, Derek, did something happen between you two again?"

"I don't think so?" he said, not meaning to end it on a question mark but unable to help himself. It wasn't like he could tell his Mom that Stiles might be freaking out over having sent him a photo of his asshole and a blatant invitation. 

His Mom sighed heavily. "Derek, I've been trying to stay out of it, but... what's going on with you two?"

Derek felt chilled, but he knew that even in her wildest imagination his mother wouldn't assume that he and Stiles had been having sex. He wasn't sure if that made this situation worse or better, but he was definitely grateful for her continued ignorance.

"It's complicated," he offered weakly. 

"Well, un-complicate it," she ordered, as though he wouldn't have already done that if he could. It was highly probable that Stiles would suggest that Derek could un-complicate things by returning to a sexual relationship, but....

"I'll try," he offered, because he really would. "Could you tell him to text me, though?"

Talia sighed again, even more heavily this time. "Derek, what are you doing right now?" 

Derek blinked. "Um." Was it a trick question? "Talking to you on the phone."

"Uh-huh. And what do you use to text Stiles with?"

"My phone," Derek replied automatically, before he abruptly caught his Mom's meaning.

"Call him and talk to him," she instructed firmly, even though Derek had already gotten it.

"What if he doesn't pick up?" Derek asked, his stomach twisting at the thought.

"Then text me and I'll talk to him," she said, and Derek felt something in him settle at the take-charge tone in her voice. Usually it annoyed him when his mother tried to boss him around and take control of any facet of his life, but in this case he could use all the help he could get.

"Okay," he said meekly. "I'll do that."

"He's in his room right now," she said. "Say goodbye, Derek, and then give his phone a try."

"Goodbye, Derek," he parroted, unable to help himself getting that one weak dig in. "Thanks, Mom. Love you."

"I love you too, honey. Fix things with your brother."

Right. His brother. Derek grimaced, but hung up and keyed up Stiles' contact information as directed.

Maybe he couldn't make this move on his own, but his mother had told him to do it, and it really was likely to be the best way to clear the air between himself and Stiles.

Because Derek couldn't take any more of the silence, and he wanted to be the center of Stiles' attention again. It might not be healthy, especially as one-sided as it had been up to this point, but he needed it, and....

Well, maybe if he didn't completely botch this coming conversation with Stiles, maybe he could start to give a little bit back. He should. He needed to try.

Because Stiles was worth more than Derek's pointed silence where sex was concerned, and Derek wanted to let him know how much he was worth to him.

It was a hard thing to admit to himself that he'd been being selfish, but now that Derek was facing the truth, he was eager to make the change.

He just hoped that Stiles would actually _talk_ to him. 

+=+=+

Stiles automatically glanced over as his phone screen lit up with an incoming call, and felt a sudden ball of ice form in his belly.

It was Derek, and to be honest Stiles was only surprised that it had taken him this long to call. 

Stiles reached for his phone, breath coming short, thumb hovering over the accept command, trying to think of what he was going to say to Derek, how he could explain without giving Erica away....

It had been a couple of days since Stiles had gotten an email from Erica that had sent him into a tailspin, the very day after he'd sent Derek a really raunchy photo and message, in fact.

And Derek probably thought that Stiles had stopped texting him because he was embarrassed, which, okay, he was a little, but that wasn't the reason.

The _reason_ Stiles had completely cut off contact with Derek had everything to do with Erica's email, and what it had meant to Stiles.

Despite the fact that she'd used to dislike him intensely and torment him when possible, once Derek had put his foot down and made her realize her behavior was problematic, Erica had actually warmed up to Stiles, and the two of them emailed sporadically; whenever one or the other of them thought of it or if they were bored.

So it wasn't completely out of the ordinary for Erica to email Stiles. And it hadn't even been the first time she'd emailed him while drunk, which was a fact he realized before he'd even gotten through the first sentence.

Erica was actually usually pretty funny when she was drunk... but there had been nothing amusing about this email. In fact, it had been the opposite of amusing.

Stiles had known about Kate Argent, both that Derek had dated her and that she'd gone obsessively crazy on him. But he'd had _no idea_ that Derek had tried dating another girl, who'd drugged and molested him.

Erica had, while under the influence of alcohol, emailed Stiles the whole sordid tale, telling him that he probably shouldn't tell his parents because she'd promised not to do that, and because it would upset Derek more than it was worth, but that "someone in your family should know."

Stiles' first reaction had been a surge of unrestrained fury toward this _Jennifer_ person who had roofied Derek; how dare she?! Erica said she'd left the school, and it wasn't like Stiles could really have done anything to her if she hadn't, but knowing she wasn't around Derek anymore made Stiles feel a little bit better....

His second reaction, though, had been unmitigated horror and shame. Because what he'd been doing to Derek, the texts he'd be sending... those were harassment, plain and simple. Telling himself that they'd been welcome just didn't cut it when Derek had never replied. Stiles had been able to convince himself that since Derek never told him to stop, he must have been okay with it....

But that was about the same thing as this _Jennifer_ thinking that because Derek was unconscious and couldn't protest it was okay to kiss him. Which, it hadn't been. It had been the very opposite of okay. Erica had said that _Jennifer_ had only kissed Derek, but Stiles would be very surprised if she hadn't also copped a feel or two.

At any rate, once it was right in his face like that, Stiles could see very little difference between what Jennifer had done to Derek and what he'd been doing. 

Objectively, Stiles knew there were differences. But even if the situations weren't exactly the same, he'd still been pushing his unwanted advances on Derek. And he'd been completely ignoring the resounding silence in reply to his sallies that should have clued him in as to their unwelcomed nature.

Stiles was in the wrong and he didn't know how to go about apologizing for it without mentioning Erica's email. He also didn't know what words to use to apologize for sending his older stepbrother a photo of his lubed butthole with a crude come-on. It had seemed like a good idea when he had done it, but in retrospect, not so much.

Well, there was only one way, and if he didn't accept the call _now_ he was going to miss it, and then he'd have to call Derek back, and that would make this even more awkward.

"Derek, I'm sorry!" he opened with, speaking more quickly and loudly than he had meant to in his fervency. 

There was a long pause during which Stiles tried not to breathe too audibly, trying to figure out what to follow that up with, then;

"What?" Derek asked, and he sounded completely confused, which was both good and bad as far as Stiles was concerned.

"I'm sorry," Stiles reiterated, forcing himself to say the words because Derek deserved to hear them no matter how hard it was for him to say them. "I'm sorry for sending you all those texts when you didn't want them and for sending the photos and I'm... I'm sorry."

He swallowed tightly, clutching at his phone with clammy fingers, waiting for Derek's reply. Waiting... waiting....

"Stiles, I." Derek paused and Stiles could swear his heart was beating in his throat. "It's okay," Derek continued, sounding quiet but Stiles couldn't read his tone aside from that, not over the phone. "It's okay. I didn't.... I liked them."

That was so far from what Stiles had expected to hear that he literally couldn't process the words for a few seconds. Then it was his turn to question;

"What?"

Derek cleared his throat. "I...."

He sounded so awkward that Stiles actually wanted to say something to help him out, but he couldn't think of anything to say in response. He'd hoped.... He'd even said the words to himself in an attempt to make himself believe.... But it was still kind of a shock to actually hear Derek actually say it.

But even though Derek was okay with it, even though he'd liked it, that didn't make it okay that Stiles had done it in the first place. Because Stiles hadn't known that. At no point had he gotten Derek's permission, and he still felt as though that made the comparison between himself and _Jennifer_ far too close and way too frightening.

"I'm sorry," he said again, and surprised himself with a little sniff. He wasn't crying, no, he really wasn't, he was just a little overcome with emotion. "I shouldn't have--"

"Stiles, it's okay," Derek interrupted, and he said it firmly enough that Stiles immediately felt better. "Really. Whatever made you feel like it wasn't, I retroactively go back and tell you that it was okay."

"You can't do that," Stiles protested, but he was smiling as he said it, and he knuckled at his eyes with his free hand. The corners were a little damp, but he _wasn't crying_. 

"Fine, then I accept your apology," Derek told him, and he sounded so warm and kind that Stiles was able to banish the last of his bad feelings.

"I wish I could hug you right now," he said honestly. "I wish you were hugging me."

"I'd hug you so hard you'd pop," Derek declared, startling a laugh out of Stiles.

"We sound like porn, only not," he chuckled, sniffing again and wiping his nose, kind of glad that Derek wasn't really here to see him acting like a huge wuss, even though a Derek-hug would have been the best thing in the world right now.

"Stiles, you believe me, right? That it's okay?"

"Yeah," he said, biting his lower lip. "As long as you believe that I'm sorry."

"Okay," Derek said easily. "But, Stiles... even though I liked the texts and photos, you probably shouldn't send me any more."

"I won't," Stiles mumbled, still feeling a little ashamed even though Derek had set most of his fears and doubts to rest. "I'll still think about you when I jerk off, though."

Whoops. He hadn't meant to say that last out loud. Well, he'd said it and he couldn't take it back.

"That's... that's okay," Derek said. "I... kind of... jerked off to your texts and photos."

He said the last so low and fast that it took Stiles a second or two to parse his meaning, and once he had he broke out in a wide grin. It gave him heart to know that Derek hadn't been disgusted by his pervy advances. After reading Erica's email, he'd really been scared that this would be the case. Either that or maybe Derek had been laughing at him....

But, no, he'd been turned on and jerking off. It made Stiles feel wonderful to hear that. Despite having dumped him for his own good, Derek still found him sexually attractive. That mattered more to Stiles than he'd thought it did.

"Really?" he couldn't help asking.

"Shut up," Derek grumbled, but it was the usual grumbling, not the panicked warning tone that Stiles really, really hated hearing.

"I'm gonna get an extra long, extra special hug once you're home for winter break, right?" he informed Derek.

"Stiles," Derek said sternly. 

"Not that kind of special," Stiles squawked defensively. Though if he had his way, he'd get that too.... He was giving up on his pervy text ploy, but that didn't mean he hadn't been successful, and it didn't mean he was giving up. In fact, if anything he had _more_ confidence now than he'd had while sending the texts.

"I can't wait to see you again."

Derek said it quietly, like a secret just for Stiles, and he'd never have thought he'd hear so much affection in his stepbrother's voice. At least not aimed at him.

"Me either," he replied just as softly, feeling as though he was getting a sort of a hug right now, even though it was only over the phone.

"Keep texting me, okay, Stiles?" Derek prompted, speaking more normally now. "The regular, everyday ones, I mean. I miss hearing from you."

"No more dirty texts or photos, but lots of texts," Stiles replied, nodding even though Derek couldn't see him. "Got it. Sorry I went silent."

"Just don't do that again. I was really freaked out."

"Sorry," Stiles apologized again, his brain already flying to consider what he'd tell Derek about next time he texted. Right now, though, he had him on the phone, and, "Do you have time to talk?" he asked a little shyly.

"Yeah," Derek replied quickly enough to convince Stiles that he meant it and wasn't just humoring him. "Yeah, I do."

"Awesome." Stiles crossed his room and flopped on his bed, curling up around a pillow, his phone pressed close, and Derek's smooth voice in his ear. 

They talked for almost two hours, and they never once mentioned sex, or Erica, or _Jennifer_ , and Stiles was okay with that. He made Derek laugh five times, not that he was counting or anything. And by the time they had to reluctantly hang up, Stiles felt as though everything really was okay between the two of them.

That wasn't going to stop him having a long talk with Derek once he came home for winter break, though. Stiles wanted what they'd had for those brief days during their vacation to visit the Hales, and he wasn't going to give up until he had it back.

He wanted Derek to be happy, and he was convinced by this point that he could make Derek happy. And he knew that there was nothing that made him happier than Derek did.

They were both looking forward to winter break, and once it was here, Stiles wasn't going to take "no" for an answer. 

He didn't mean that in a gross, obsessive, forceful way. He just felt in his heart that Derek really _wanted_ to say "yes" but he was letting his guilt and misplaced morals get in the way.

If that was true, then Stiles _was_ going to make sure that Derek understood what he meant to him.

And if he got his heart completely destroyed this time, then at least he could say he'd been honest and that he'd tried. 

But somehow Stiles thought that he could trust Derek with his heart. He just needed to be brave enough to place it in Derek's hands.

He wasn't going to do that over the phone, though, or through a text. As much impatience as Stiles was feeling, it really was going to have to wait until winter break. Thankfully that was coming up very soon.

Stiles was going to spend every moment of that time coming up with a very good argument for why he and Derek should be together. 

Because they should be. And they could be. And it was evidently up to Stiles to make sure it happened. He could do this, though.

He could totally do this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the delay in updating! Planning on finishing and posting the next (and final) part much more quickly. Wish me luck! (And wish Stiles luck as well lol!) *hugs for all my patient readers!*


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I post this with abject apologies for how long it took, and with deep gratitude for all my readers who politely asked when there would be more, even after a YEAR had passed. T.T It's been a long, dry spell where words are concerned, but this is finally done, and I just hope people are still interested! ^_^;; Please enjoy and again, I'm sorry and thank you!! <3

This time when Derek flew home for the holiday, Stiles was waiting for him at the airport along with their parents. 

Derek felt a wave of relief that he hadn't expected, after having missed seeing Stiles when he'd come home for Thanksgiving. He knew his happiness was clear to read on his face and he didn't even try to hide it. The wide grin on Stiles' face made him even happier.

Stiles got his long, extra special hug. There were no boners and there was no popping of any sort, but Derek could have sworn that Stiles had grown another inch or two even though it had only been a short time since he had last seen him.

"I'm glad you're home," Stiles said into his shoulder, holding Derek just as tightly as Derek was holding him, his body more sturdy, his arms still wiry but stronger than the last time they'd held each other. It was really hard to let go, but if this went on much longer people were going to get suspicious. And by "people" Derek meant their parents.

Although, honestly, their mother was smiling fondly at them as they broke apart, and their father looked mostly relieved but also paternally proud. Then the entire family traipsed down to the baggage claim and maybe Derek had his arm slung over Stiles' broadening shoulders and was leaning into him a little, but that was just because Stiles made such a good armrest and this was the sort of thing that obnoxious older brothers did, right?

Stiles was wearing Derek's teeshirt again -- the one he'd put on after Derek had helped him shave and then _never given back_ \-- and this time there was no Heather in sight to get in the way of Derek's enjoyment of the view.

He couldn't, however, ogle Stiles the way he really kind of wanted to do. Not while their parents were right there with them. Derek caught Stiles staring at his chest a few times but that wasn't actually anything new and neither their mother nor their father noticed; or if the did they didn't pay it any mind.

Derek definitely noticed and it made him burn. But he still wasn't sure what he was going to do about his and Stiles' mutual attraction. He'd been thinking it over, ever since they'd essentially bared their hearts to one another on the phone, but he still hadn't come up with a concrete answer, not even in the privacy of his own mind.

On the one hand, Derek cared about Stiles and he acknowledged and believed that Stiles cared about him in turn, that neither of them had been "experimenting" or taking advantage of the other as a matter of convenience. They already knew they were sexually compatible and they got along as friends as well as brothers, despite the age difference.

But on the other hand, Derek was about to turn eighteen and Stiles had only very recently had his fourteen birthday. That was really young; especially considering Derek would be legally an adult soon. And while Derek wasn't afraid any longer that he'd taken advantage of Stiles, he still didn't think it was a good idea to start anything he wasn't sure both of them could finish.

And yet, how could he completely reject the idea? When he couldn't stand the idea of dating someone who wasn't Stiles, much less the idea of Stiles being in a relationship with someone who wasn't Derek....

That was a telling point, he supposed, and yet Derek was still conflicted.

Well, he didn't have to make a decision right away. From the greeting in the airport on, for the rest of the day, he and Stiles didn't really have any private time together. Their parents were right there, helping Derek unload his things -- he'd brought more with him than during Thanksgiving break since winter break was considerably longer -- and then Derek was helping his Dad cook, then the four of them were eating the dinner they'd made, and after that they all sat around the table playing board games and nibbling on dessert.

It felt so good to be at home with his family that Derek almost didn't mind not having a chance to talk to Stiles alone. Well, and it wasn't as though he knew what he was going to say yet.

Then it was finally time for bed and even though he'd had a long flight and it was nearly midnight, Derek wasn't the slightest bit tired. In fact, he was full of energy, so he went into his bedroom and started unpacking.

It surprised him not at all when Stiles quietly slipped inside before five full minutes had passed. He was still wearing Derek's old shirt but now he had on soft pajama bottoms and had bare feet, and he looked sleepy, rumpled, and eminently fuckable.

"Hey," Stiles greeted quietly, and Derek half expected to be pounced on, but instead Stiles yawned and curled up on the bed, in what Derek was coming to think of as his usual spot.

Derek tried to tell himself he wasn't disappointed. He wasn't... was he?

"Hey," he greeted in return, and after a long moment of silence when Stiles didn't say anything more, just sat there and looked sleepy and contented, Derek continued to shift clothes from his luggage to his dresser. Damn, he'd missed being home. Almost as much as he'd missed his parents and Stiles, he'd also missed his bedroom and the familiar scents, sounds, and sights of the house he'd grown up in. Leaving the nest to become his own person was exciting and liberating, true, but it also kind of sucked. At least he was just in college and he could still come home, even if it was only for vacations.

"How have you been?" he asked Stiles, even though they texted one another multiple times a day and had been talking on the phone just an hour before Derek had headed to the airport for his flight home earlier in the day.

"Good," Stiles replied easily, plucking at the frayed hem of his pants leg where he had his feet tucked up under his thighs. "I'm glad you're home."

"I'm _so_ glad to be home," Derek said with fervent honesty, throwing his shoes in the closet then shoving his empty suitcase into a conveniently sized space between his desk and the wall. He wouldn't have been so open in his emotions before leaving for school, but absence really did make the heart grow fonder and all that. It felt easier to say the words than it used to be. Maybe he was maturing. 

"Really looking forward to enjoying this break," he continued, smiling, feeling lighter than he had in a long time.

"And enjoying me?" Stiles asked, eyebrows waggling in a ridiculous way.

Derek just _looked_ at him, still not settled in his own mind how he was going to deal with their mutual feelings and desires for one another. He'd sort of confessed to Stiles over the phone... only not really.

"Enjoying the pleasure of my company, then," Stiles amended, rolling his eyes, before Derek could think of how to respond to him verbally. He didn't seem hugely put out despite the eyeroll, but there was the ring of truth in his words. 

Derek felt a little bad for constantly squashing Stiles when his younger stepbrother had been brave enough to put himself out there... and yet what else could he do?

"Of course," he said, coming over and sitting next to Stiles on his bed. He'd missed the smell of Stiles, and there was something comforting about feeling his body heat radiating against his side. It made Derek want to wrap Stiles up in his arms and never let go, and since he just wanted to -- as they'd said -- enjoy his time with Stiles, he didn't let himself think too much about this desire and he just indulged it, slinging an arm around Stiles and tugging him close.

"You never gave me back my shirt," he said, smiling to himself as Stiles leaned into him and rested his head on his shoulder.

"Well, you never gave me back mine," Stiles retorted, fisting the material where it puddled a bit over his crotch. Derek tried not to see this as a suggestive move. It was simply where the hem of the shirt was, that was all.

"Seriously?" Derek snorted. "I was waiting for you to give me mine back first."

"That's what I was waiting for!" Stiles squawked, elbowing Derek lightly in the stomach, and then they both exploded into laughter. And somehow by the time they'd calmed, they were both lying properly on the bed, Derek's head on his pillow, Stiles' head pillowed on Derek's chest, and Derek didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around Stiles.

He liked the way Stiles felt bigger and more sturdy than he had the last time they'd been in this position. Then he tried hard to _not_ think about the last time they'd been in this position, because he really didn't need to be getting a hard-on right now. That wasn't what this was about.

At least the majority of Stiles' body was resting alongside Derek's, just his head, shoulders, and part of his chest resting on top of Derek's torso. So if either of them got hard their erections wouldn't be rubbing against each other. Derek had to remind himself that this was a good thing, not bad.

"You're such a massive dork," he said affectionately, sinking his fingers into Stiles' hair. It was softer than he remembered and he had to fight the urge to pet Stiles' head.

"I'm not as massive a whale penis as you are," Stiles came back with, but he sounded sleepy and contented rather than sassy.

Derek rolled his eyes, but he could feel that he was grinning like an idiot. He'd really missed Stiles. He'd missed getting along with Stiles and joking with him and laughing with him and cuddling with him. It had _sucked_ when they'd been not talking, and even once they'd made up, texts and the occasional phone call just weren't the same.

"I dunno," he said, giving into the desire to stroke Stiles' head, fingers carding through his hair. "Pretty sure you're the biggest whale penis in the room."

"Hey." Stiles poked him, but did nothing more. He heaved a heavy sigh, then yawned and rubbed his cheek against Derek's pectoral, his hand kneading at the shirt over Derek's belly. It was kind of like when they'd used to cuddle after sex... except without the sex. Derek missed the sex, he could admit to himself in the privacy of his own head, but this was good too. And it was all he would allow himself to indulge in.

He wasn't hard, but he had an awareness of his cock inside his boxer briefs. Hot and tingling, but thankfully not noticeable tenting his jeans, so he ignored it. Being with Stiles like this was enough. 

Derek told himself it was enough because it _had_ to be enough. It was all he was going to allow himself... at least for now.

+=+=+

Stiles had a plan, really he did. He was going to win Derek over and make sure that his older stepbrother understood that Stiles wanted him for more than his stunning face and incredible body; he also loved him for everything else he was. 

What Derek was... was a sweet guy who was sometimes prickly but had a dry sense of humor that meshed really well with Stiles' snarky cynicism. He had a beautiful smile and his nose wrinkled adorably on the rare occasions that he laughed. It was usually Stiles who managed to make him laugh, which was a fact that made Stiles' chest swell with pride and affection.

Derek was also generous, empathetic, and thoughtful, even though he tried to hide these traits behind a facade of gruffness. He was open about how much he loved his mother, he was helpful around the house, and he treated Stiles so much more nicely now than he had used to do.

The only frustrating thing was that he was treating Stiles solely like a brother when Stiles wanted more than that. And he was pretty sure that Derek wanted more than that too.... Maybe his feelings for Stiles weren't as strong as Stiles' feelings for him, but Stiles was confident that Derek at least liked him, and he thought that maybe he could convince Derek to someday love him.... Well, if he didn't end up driving Derek crazy. But Scott was still Stiles' best friend, so Stiles _could_ be loveable, even if only in an "acquired taste" sort of way, right?

Actually, Scott and the way he cared about Stiles was part of the _problem_ Stiles was suddenly having right now. 

The thing was that Kira and her parents had flown to New York to spend Thanksgiving with their extended family, which had prompted Scott to remember that he _had_ a best friend. And while it was gratifying to have Scott actually apologize for neglecting him and to get to spend time with his best friend again, Stiles couldn't help resenting it a little, since Scott was practically camped out in his bedroom now and that was time Stiles could have been spending with Derek.

Or, maybe not so much after all. Because Derek was leaving the house every day, almost all day, to hang out with Erica and Boyd now that they were back in town. If he was realistic, Stiles had to admit that he probably _wouldn't_ have had much chance to spend time with Derek even if not for Scott's insistent attentions.

Bowing to current circumstances, Stiles resigned himself to putting off his plan for a bit and turned his attention to hanging out with Scott the way they had used to do. He got to see Derek at most meals, anyway, and they still texted each other a lot. It wasn't like it had been while Derek had been away at college.

But then as winter break progressed, finally, _finally_ things began to fall into place like toppling dominoes, and events actually worked out even better than Stiles could have wished for or ever dreamed. 

It was kind of like coming hard after the longest case of blue balls ever.... An analogy which Stiles sincerely hoped would become literal as well as figurative.

First Scott left town, headed to his grandparents' for Thanksgiving along with his mother. In the past Stiles had always hated when that happened, but now.... Well, Stiles loved Scott, he really did, but he couldn't help feeling relieved to see him go. He'd been feeling a little smothered, and he could still love Scott from a distance. Anyway, they had texts and video chat to keep them until Scott came home. 

Then Erica made up with her family -- who had up to that point still been extremely upset over her elopement -- and both she and Boyd started spending more time with them which meant spending less time with Derek. Stiles didn't think Derek minded, even though he'd clearly been enjoying being with his high school friends again. 

And _then_ as the coup de grace, completely unexpectedly, the week before Christmas Uncle Peter called and the next thing the family knew Talia and her husband were rushing off to help him with some kind of unspecified difficulty he'd gotten himself into.

Well, it was unspecified where Derek and Stiles were concerned. Peter had obviously told Talia what was going on and she'd informed her husband, but neither of them was sharing whatever it was with their sons. Stiles knew that it wasn't good because of the way Mom's lips pinched together, but he also knew it wasn't completely disastrous because Dad was only exasperated and annoyed, not furious or concerned.

Mostly their parents were more worried about leaving Derek and Stiles at home alone for what was going to amount to several days than they were about whatever difficulty Peter was in. Stiles thought that was a little silly because he was fourteen now and Derek was on the verge of being a legal adult; one who'd been living on his own while attending college, no less, but he figured that was just how parents were.

This scenario reminded Stiles of the night that Derek had been babysitting him... the evening that had sort of started everything, when Derek had pinned Stiles to the floor and teased him about his hard-on, holding his wrists tightly enough to bruise. And that definitely wasn't an unpleasant memory, even though it had been weird and kind of embarrassing while it had been happening.

"Mom," Derek sighed, rolling his eyes so hard his head twisted around on his neck. "We'll be _fine_. I've been managing to keep myself alive at college, and Scott isn't around to get Stiles into trouble."

"I think that's usually the other way around," Dad muttered, not unfairly, but he looked pretty well convinced by Derek's words. And it wasn't like there was a choice. If their parents were going to go off and bail Peter out of whatever mess he was in, they would either have to take Derek and Stiles with them or leave them at home. And it was pretty clear that taking their sons with them wasn't an option. Even if they hadn't been trying to shelter Derek and Stiles from whatever was going on, four plane tickets would be a _lot_ more expensive than two; especially on short notice during the holiday season. Stiles thought it was more likely to be the first consideration that decided their parents, though.

"We're leaving cash," Mom said, fussing with Stiles' hair, then dragging him into her arms and hugging him tightly even though they hadn't even started packing yet. Stiles let her, trying to restrain himself from sighing. "No going out after dark. No alcohol, no parties, and try to eat healthy at least once a day."

"Got it," Derek said reasonably, instead of getting cranky or pointing out that she was being ridiculous. After all, who would they invite to a party when most of their friends weren't even in town right now? And it wasn't as though either of them was exactly a social butterfly, no matter what their mother might like to think and imagine. "It'll be okay, Mom, I promise."

More than fine, Stiles thought gleefully, anticipating days and nights of having Derek exclusively to himself, and if he worked it out right, days and nights of marathon sex and maybe some naked cooking; though not frying bacon because that would just be a bad idea all around.

Also pizza, with pepperoni. But they would order that, not make their own.

"Do you think Uncle Peter is really in trouble?" Stiles asked Derek, lounging on his stepbrother's bed while their parents were busy packing for their trip, down the hall in their bedroom. "Or do you think he's faking it?"

Stiles was on his stomach, Derek's pillow tucked under his arms, his heels kicking up over his ass, and he figured he must look okay from the way Derek was giving him heated glances when he thought Stiles wasn't looking. 

"How could he fake being in trouble?" Derek asked, quirking a brow. "And why would he?"

Stiles pursed his lips, pondering. "Not to give us time alone together, probably... not this time anyway. Maybe he wants some attention? He's probably upset that he's never been invited here for Christmas." He grinned. "Ooh! I'll bet he wants Mom and Dad all to himself for an imaginary kinky threesome!"

"You have a sick, sick mind!" Derek squawked, giving Stiles a hysterically horrified look. "Also, my door is open!"

Stiles cackled, unrepentant. He might have been a little embarrassed if their parents had heard, but he knew they were still in their bedroom. And, besides, it wasn't as if they both didn't already know what Peter was like, even though Talia might be in denial.

"Anyway," Derek pursued doggedly, which was yet another thing Stiles found delightful about him, "I'm sure Peter really does need help with whatever's going on. Mom and Dad wouldn't be _flying_ out to see him just before Christmas if there wasn't really an emergency."

"True," Stiles mused, lowering his head to rest on his arms and gazing sideways at Derek, who was sitting on his desk chair, looking pensive and also incredibly adorable and sexy at the same time, his bangs flat and soft on his forehead, his thighs spread to accommodate the package that Stiles knew from experience was more than generous. "But it still works out for us."

Derek bit his lower lip at this bold declaration -- not that Stiles had specified anything pervy -- and Stiles felt himself chub up against Derek's mattress. He wanted to offer to go over there and bite Derek's lip for him... or maybe kneel between his spread legs and cup that tempting bulge... but their parents hadn't even left yet. They really were just down the hall and Derek's door _was_ open, like he'd already pointed out.

When Derek didn't protest Stiles' assumptions, Stiles felt that this alone was a victory. But lack of objection wasn't agreement, he had already acknowledged after the debacle with the dirty texts. So he didn't follow it up with anything, just kept quiet.

Increasingly, Stiles felt as though he was stalking some skittish big game prey, or maybe a predator that was wily and could be scary when cornered, and while he was fairly confident that Derek wanted him the same way he wanted Derek -- because Derek had pretty much said so in as many words -- Stiles was afraid that if he pushed too hard, Derek would head for the hills and the epic sex-fest that Stiles was looking forward to indulging in while their parents were gone would vanish in a puff of smoke. 

Stiles was definitely anticipating indulging.

And sex. He anticipated lots and lots of sex.

But for that he needed Derek's enthusiastic participation. Stiles didn't want to be anything like this _Jennifer_ who had evidently felt that lack of protest equaled consent. 

Even though it felt strange and egotistical of him, Stiles honestly did think that Derek wanted what he wanted. He had too much proof of it to believe anything contrary, especially since Derek had confessed to getting off to the filthy texts Stiles had sent. Stiles was pretty sure that Derek just needed to be convinced that it would be okay to act on their mutual desire, and Stiles wasn't going to have any better time to do that convincing than now.

Well, by "now" he meant once their parents were well on their way to Uncle Peter's. Clearly any move made before that would be him jumping the gun and screwing things up.

The very last thing Stiles would have wanted, even less than never getting to hug or kiss Derek again, would be getting caught in a compromising situation by their parents. Because Stiles wasn't dumb. Even though he didn't feel there was anything wrong about what he wanted from Derek, and even though he wanted Derek to feel the same way, he was well aware that this thing between them wasn't considered to be acceptable by most of society. And he also knew that Derek would take all the blame if they got caught, even if Stiles went on national television and screamed that it had all been his idea and he'd been perfectly willing.

It made him feel a little sad to know that even if he got Derek to the point that he wasn't in denial, they'd still have to hide their relationship from _everyone_ for a good four years....

At least Uncle Peter was on their side. Not that this was such a great selling point; Stiles certainly wouldn't mention it to Derek.

He hoped that whatever trouble Peter was in, it wasn't too bad. Well, his Dad was a sheriff and Mom was about _the_ most forceful personality Stiles had encountered in his young life -- even more so than Lydia Martin -- and so he thought that Peter was in pretty good hands, whatever was going on.

"We're having pizza for dinner, right?" Stiles asked, changing the subject. "With pepperoni." He lazily ground his hips into Derek's mattress underneath him, enjoying the pressure against his semi as well as the smell of Derek in the pillow under his nose. The closer he came to being alone with Derek, the more horny he was feeling.

"Yeah," Derek agreed, so easily it startled Stiles a little. He glanced over and caught Derek's eyes fixed on his ass for a moment before he looked away. Stiles smirked, enjoying the pink flush to his stepbrother's cheekbones and at the tips of his cute ears, staring at the way Derek's lips were parted to reveal his bunny teeth. Derek looked turned on and that turned Stiles on even more in turn.

Stiles licked his lips, mentally counting the minutes until their parents were gone. Waiting was hard and Stiles wanted Derek and he wanted fucking and he wanted Derek to want him and to fuck him.

So maybe a little teasing was in order.... Stiles kicked his heels up lightly against his ass, enjoying the sensation of something touching him, even if it was just part of his own body, knowing he should feel bad that his parents were going to have to leave on an unexpected, stressful trip, but really just so freaking thrilled that they were leaving....

He loved his Mom and Dad, he did, and he even wished Uncle Peter well. But overall Stiles was just super excited to be getting some alone time with Derek, his imagination flooding him with vivid images of what they could get up to in the time they had the house to themselves.

"All right, boys," Dad called from the hallway, and his father's voice was enough to kill most of Stiles' arousal. Also, he was wearing his baggier jeans for comfort rather than the tight ones he sometimes put on to tempt Derek. So he felt safe enough rolling off of Derek's bed and wandering out into the hall as Dad continued, "Come and help us with our luggage."

Which really meant carry their luggage for them -- as Mom said, what else did they have teenage sons for? -- because their father only had one overnight case and their mother had a normal sized suitcase and a carry-on that she'd managed to stuff both her purse and laptop into, as well as probably a few important items that her husband had forgotten. They'd gone on enough family trips that Stiles knew how his parents packed. They'd get there, Dad would freak out because he didn't have his razor or something similar, and then Mom would smugly pull it out of her bag.

Since Dad didn't want to pay for several days of parking they all piled into the car and Stiles' father drove them to the airport. Then, after they hopped out at the Arrivals and Departures Terminal and said their goodbyes, Derek got behind the wheel and drove himself and Stiles home.

Despite how gleeful he'd been over having the house and Derek to himself for days, Stiles felt an overwhelming cascade of anxiety, sadness, and loneliness wash over him as soon as he watched their parents walk through the terminal doors, and it only grew worse as they made their way home. 

He wasn't surprised by this, even though it sucked. Stiles had lost his birth mother when he'd been very young but not so young that he didn't -- vaguely -- remember it happening, and he tended to worry about things like plane crashes, car accidents, or muggings gone wrong happening, no matter how unlikely they were. He loved his parents and he didn't want to lose them, so he was going to be on edge until he knew their flight had landed. He was happy to have Derek to himself, true, but he was going to miss Mom and Dad while they were gone.

Not as much as he had missed Derek while he'd been at college, of course. And his parents were going to be home in time for Christmas, and probably even in time for all the preparations leading up to it. So Stiles did his best to suck it up and he sat quietly in the passenger seat, trying not to distract Derek as he navigated freeway traffic, and he thought he did an okay job of keeping his neurosis to himself....

Only to find himself drawn into a long, warm hug as soon as they were parked in the garage at home and out of the car. Derek held him tight, cheek pressed hard against his own, broad hands moving comfortingly over his back, not dipping below the waistband of his jeans but that was okay because these were touches meant to comfort rather than titillate. 

"It's gonna be fine," Derek murmured in his ear, and Stiles wasn't ashamed of the fact that he was clinging to Derek a little desperately. "You know that, right?"

"I know that," Stiles said grumpily, though he didn't for an instant loosen his embrace. "But knowing something with your head and feeling it with your heart are two different things. And I think I'd feel better if I knew what trouble Uncle Peter was really in."

"I'm sure it's not anything that's dangerous," Derek said, pulling away but taking Stiles' hand to pull him into the house, hitting the button to close the garage door on their way. "Dad would have been way more intense and Mom would have been a _lot_ more pissed off if that was the case."

Stiles snorted out a little laugh. "How did you know I was envisioning difficulties with the mob or something like that?"

"Because I know you," Derek said with a smile, his gaze warm where it fell on Stiles' face, his hand strong and grounding, his fingers twined with Stiles'. Neither of them seemed to be in a hurry to let go. "And because we both know Peter. But it'll be fine, so just relax."

"I'll be happier once they text us that they're back on the ground," Stiles muttered, and he wasn't even thinking about sex now, was kind of glad it wasn't dinner time yet, because his stomach was twisting a little and not even pepperoni pizza could tempt him. He knew that the odds were his parents were going to be one-hundred percent safe and healthy -- just kind of annoyed with Peter and out some money for this trip that they could have spent on Christmas gifts -- but he couldn't quite banish his sense of anxiety.

"Come on."

Derek pulled Stiles upstairs, still holding his hand, and before Stiles quite realized, they were back in Derek's bedroom and then they were curled up on Derek's bed in the middle of the afternoon with Derek spooning Stiles, arms clasped around him, both their phones within easy reach. And within less than ten minutes of being cuddled like this Stiles found himself dozing off.

Well... there was nothing wrong with taking a nap while on winter break, Stiles thought sleepily, feeling all his limbs going heavy and disconnected, most of his attention focused on the weight of Derek's arm ringing his waist, the heated puffs of Derek's breath on the back of his neck. Especially when it was napping with Derek, on Derek's bed.

Stiles liked that part. He liked being locked in Derek's embrace. It was different than the times Derek had held him down and bruised his wrists, but it gave him the same sense of someone else being in control; someone who was stronger than him, someone that he could explicitly trust to keep him safe. Derek was keeping Stiles calm, and Stiles appreciated that fact.

Stiles enjoyed this calm. He was quietly drifting... so much that he was actually surprised to be startled awake two hours later when both his phone and Derek's chimed with texts from their parents, letting them know that they'd landed safely and were headed to get a rental car and then a hotel room. 

"So they won't be staying with Uncle Peter," Stiles yawned, sitting up and scratching his scalp, blinking blearily at his phone screen. "Bet he's disappointed by that."

"You're such a deviant," Derek groaned, rolling onto his back and keying in a quick reply text. "So gross."

Stiles snickered. Maybe it was unfair of him to tease Derek this way, since Peter wasn't actually related to Stiles the way he was to Derek, but he couldn't help himself. And, hell, he more than half believed what he was saying. Stiles wasn't completely sure of how Uncle Peter's brain worked but he strongly suspected that the man wouldn't turn down a threesome with his attractive older sister and handsome brother-in-law if that had ever been in the realm of possibility. 

Which, ugh, yuck, it was bad enough knowing that his parents had sex with each other. Stiles didn't need to imagine his Dad banging Uncle Peter--

"Euw euw euw! I grossed myself out!" Stiles yelped when his mind's-eye helpfully supplied visuals. He dropped his phone and scrubbed at his face. " _Eeeeeeuuw_! Where's the brain bleach when you need it?"

"Serves you right," Derek grunted, giving Stiles a shove toward the edge of the mattress. "Come on. It's past six and I want pizza."

"Pizza!" Stiles seconded, grabbing his phone and hopping obediently off of Derek's bed, then heading for the door. Now that he was sure his parents were okay, he was _starving_. "Get breadsticks too! And lots of garlic butter! And cinnamon rolls for dessert!"

"Those cinnamon rolls are awful," Derek complained, standing next to the bed, his hair matted down on one side and standing up on the other. He should have looked ridiculous but instead he looked like walking sex, especially with his sleep-flushed cheeks and heavy-lidded eyes. 

And, _hello_ , there was Stiles' libido, back with reinforcements now that he was sure his parents were safe and the majority of his nerves had dissipated.

Derek, oblivious to this, continued his rant against pizza place cinnamon rolls. "They're cheap and there's too much cinnamon, and the icing tastes like chemicals, and they're usually overdone or undercooked. We could make much better rolls ourselves here at home."

"I'm sorry, did you _want_ to spend hours in the kitchen making fresh cinnamon rolls?" Stiles asked archly, running his hands through his hair in case it was as messy as Derek's was. He wanted to jump Derek right now, but that wasn't part of his plan so he distracted himself with snark.

Hey, not even sex could get Stiles to stop snarking, as he'd already proved in the past.

"All right, all right." Derek conceded the point because of course he did; Stiles was _right_. "I'll add cinnamon rolls to the order." 

Derek sighed, following Stiles as he set off down the stairs. Stiles smirked. He loved Derek, but he also loved winning. And he loved cinnamon rolls. Derek wasn't wrong in pointing out that homemade were better -- not that Stiles would say so out loud -- but any cinnamon roll was a good cinnamon roll.

"I wonder if Mom and Dad will ever tell us what's going on with Uncle Peter," Derek mused as he settled down at the family computer, brought up the site for their favorite pizza place, which they already had bookmarked, and beginning to input their order.

"Maybe I'll ask him after they get home," Stiles offered.

"What?" Derek twisted to stare at him. "How?"

Stiles shrugged easily. "We've been emailing," he informed Derek readily enough. He might only have Scott and Heather as friends in his day-to-day school life but he kept in touch with more people through email. Erica, Grams Hale, Uncle Peter, several people he played MMORPGs with.... And, of course, Derek while he was at college.

Stiles might come off seeming like a loser and a near-loner to his classmates but as far as _he_ was concerned he had a healthy and active social life. It was just that most of it was electronic and a lot of people didn't get that.

He also had a super-hot stepbrother who he was pretty sure was sexually interested and emotionally invested in him, which was worth everything else put together. But Stiles really couldn't tell anyone else about that. Not even Scott, because Stiles loved Scott but Scott was a donut and he could keep most of Stiles' secrets but this one was too big to trust him with. Heather... Heather might understand, and _she_ could be trusted to keep a secret... but then again, she might _not_ understand. So Stiles figured he'd be better off keeping it completely to himself for now, and in the foreseeable future.

"You've been emailing with Uncle Peter?" Derek asked, his face twisting in a disapproving expression.

"Don't forget some extra marinara cups for the bread sticks," Stiles directed, leaning over the back of Derek's chair and pointing at the screen. He wasn't actually deflecting; he wanted to make sure they had everything they needed for a delicious dinner. "And even more garlic butter!"

"And ranch," Derek said, because he was a heathen, clicking on the items and adding them to the order. They had ranch dressing in the fridge but Derek always claimed the cups from the pizza place tasted better. Stiles loved his stepbrother and he was pretty sure he was _in love_ with his stepbrother, but sometimes Derek could be a complete weirdo. 

After all, who didn't like raw cookie dough?

"What do you and Uncle Peter email about?" Derek pursued as he completed the order and calculated a generous tip.

Stiles' brows rose. Was Derek jealous? That would be awesome, he thought, but he kept his happy dance internal only.

"Stuff," he said evenly, standing back from the chair as Derek rose. "Nothing really important. Let's not talk about Peter anymore, okay?"

Derek was clearly reluctant, but he walked them over to the sofa and grabbed the entertainment system remote as they both got settled. Stiles curled up shamelessly next to Derek, and Derek let him, going so far as to wrap an arm around him. Maybe jealousy had its benefits after all. Stiles liked it when it was Derek feeling jealous over him and not the other way around.

"Do you wanna watch your Batman movie?" Derek offered, and Stiles felt his heart thump but he shook his head.

"Naw, I've watched it so much I pretty much have it memorized," he admitted. 

That wasn't hyperbole. The movie had reminded Stiles of that day he'd been upset and Derek had tried to comfort him -- which, as far as he could tell, had been when Derek had started really treating him like a person who mattered and not just an annoyance he had to endure -- so it had good associations because of that and Stiles had watched it a _lot_ while Derek had been away at college. But due to that last fact, and this was blasphemy to even think, Stiles was actually a little tired of it by this point.

"Let's see what awful B-movies we can find on Netflix," he suggested happily. His parents were safe and sound and also _not here_ , Derek was warm and solid and he _was_ here, and pepperoni pizza would soon be here, for both of them to eat. The evening couldn't have been better, not even if they were making out right now.

..... Okay, maybe it would have been better if they were making out right now.

But Stiles was sticking to his plan. He could be patient. He was playing the long game and he wasn't going to blow his chance because he got horny and impatient. 

Besides, he was starving right now and food trumped sex. Especially when the food was certain and the sex was, at the moment, hypothetical.

"All right," Derek sighed, pretending to be so put out, even though Stiles knew that he loved bad B-movies too.

Stiles sighed happily and snuggled closer to Derek as his older stepbrother brought up the Netflix menu and began scrolling through their choices. He would have to move once the pizza arrived, and his stomach seemed determined to gnaw its way to his backbone now that he wasn't stressing any longer about his parents' safety, which made Stiles really hope the pizza would arrive sooner rather than later, but he was just where he wanted to be, and Stiles felt that he couldn't be happier.

Even though he was ninety-nine percent sure this wasn't for their benefit and that Peter really was in some kind of trouble, Stiles couldn't help but feel grateful to their uncle for getting him the house alone with Derek.

Correction; getting him the house alone with Derek for several _days_. No parents, no Scott, no Heather, no Erica, Boyd, or Isaac.... Just Stiles and Derek until Mom and Dad came back just before Christmas.

This was going to be _awesome_!

+=+=+

If he was perfectly honest with himself, Derek could admit that he was having more and more trouble remembering why he was resisting the idea of being with Stiles so vigorously. 

Being with Stiles _sexually_ , that was. Derek was already "with" Stiles in every other way, and he was completely willing to admit to and acknowledge that. They meshed well where humor and interests were concerned, they were emotionally and mentally compatible, and Derek liked spending time with Stiles at least as much as he did spending time with the friends he had who were his own age, if not more.

The kicker was that he knew they were also compatible sexually. Derek could remember everything they had done. He knew what Stiles tasted like, everywhere, he knew how it felt to hold Stiles down by his wrists and he knew how much they both liked that. Derek missed kissing Stiles and even more than that he missed cuddling with Stiles in the radiant warmth of their shared afterglow.

Nothing had changed where their ages were concerned. Stiles was still only fourteen and Derek was going to be legally an adult soon....

But was the age difference really a good enough reason to deny _everything else_ that there was between them? If they were five years older than they were now the four years' difference would hardly had mattered. Hell, even in two years it would be less of a big deal.

Of course, there was also the fact that they were stepbrothers. They were supposed to _be brothers_.... And brothers didn't bang each other. Well, not normally anyway.

Random thoughts of literal incest aside, Derek was coming up pretty much blank on why he should still be pushing Stiles away. The more time he spent with Stiles, eating pizza, drinking soda, and choking with laughter as they watched bad cinema, casually insulting each other and the movie, sharing body warmth... the more time they spent in one another's company, the happier Derek felt. 

When he couldn't imagine being like this with someone else, when he couldn't _bear_ the thought of Stiles having a girlfriend or boyfriend his own age, and Derek knew Stiles couldn't imagine it either... what was left? They were teenage boys; they couldn't and shouldn't spend the rest of their lives sad, lonely, and celibate. And yet they couldn't be with other people. _Couldn't_. Derek knew he'd never want anyone else, and even though Stiles was still very young, he seemed pretty certain that his heart was set on Derek....

Then they were done with the pizza and moved on to their mediocre cinnamon rolls, and Derek found that watching Stiles slurp sickeningly sweet white icing off his long, lean fingers with low sounds of pleasure, his eyes closed, his cheeks pink, his hair a riotous mess, was pretty much _the last straw_ where self restraint and lingering morals were concerned.

The icing didn't look a _lot_ like jizz, but it looked similar enough that Derek's cock swelled in his boxer briefs as Stiles licked it off his fingers. There was a smear of the sugary stuff on the corner of Stiles' mouth and his lips were red and still kind of slick with pepperoni grease, and there was only the faintest sensation of guilt as Derek felt his control snap.

"Derek?" Stiles asked, startled, as Derek turned off the television and entertainment system even though the movie they were watching wasn't done yet and tossed the remote carelessly toward the coffee table.

"Derek!" Stiles squawked, flailing as Derek stood, slung him over his shoulder, and moved to cart him upstairs. Stiles was a lot heavier than Derek remembered, but he hadn't stopped working out while he'd been at college despite his course load and so he was definitely up to the challenge. "Derek, watch it, I just ate a lot of pizza!"

And, okay, maybe this hadn't been the best time to make his move, Derek thought ruefully as he grunted and began ascending the stairs. But he hadn't felt as though he'd had a choice in the matter.

At least Stiles stopped wiggling as they went upward, self preservation kicking in and overwhelming his natural reactions. Which was probably just as well if his stomach was as full as he claimed.

"This is terrifying, by the way," Stiles said, his voice high pitched and his hands fisting in Derek's shirt. Derek's heart plunged for all of a second, as he wondered when exactly Stiles had stopped liking being manhandled, but then Stiles continued, "The bottom of the stairs looks even further away from up here, and I might be spontaneously developing acrophobia." His fingers clenched tightly and he remained perfectly still. "It's a good thing I trust you so much, Derek."

Derek felt a little bad for freaking Stiles out like this, but he felt a stronger surge of warmth flood through him, hearing explicitly that Stiles trusted him. Not to mention realizing that it _wasn't_ the manhandling that was bothering his younger stepbrother.

"Sorry," he grunted, because he could imagine how the view looked from where Stiles was right now, and he could see how it would be terrifying.

They were at the top of the stairs soon enough, though, and after only an instant of hesitation, Derek allowed his erection to lead him in the direction of his own bedroom. Stiles' room was closer, but for all the times Derek had fantasized about debauching Stiles on his own bed, now that he was on the verge of making it a reality he wasn't going to let a few feet of hallway keep him from making it happen. 

Besides, his bed was bigger than Stiles' was. And in his own bedroom he knew right where the lube and condoms were.

Stiles squeaked when Derek dropped him onto the mattress on his back, as carefully as was possible when he'd been carrying him like a sack of potatoes, and stared up at Derek with wide eyes, his mouth hanging open in a manner guaranteed to fill Derek's head with filthy thoughts.

After all, he _knew_ what that mouth could do. No need to use his imagination.

But Derek paused a moment, despite his instincts telling him to unzip and slide out of his jeans, get naked, then climb on top of Stiles' nubile young body. Mostly it was common sense, but he could _see_ the confusion winging through Stiles' brain, especially in the way his eyes were kind of glazing over.

"What...?" Stiles managed to gasp out, and it wasn't a full question, but Derek wasn't dumb so he knew exactly what Stiles was asking. He also knew why, and since it was his own doing, the _least_ he could do was take the time to answer.

"I'm an asshole," he said frankly. Then, because Stiles might misinterpret that, he tried to clarify. "I mean, I've _been_ an asshole. Yeah, maybe the age difference between us and the fact that we're stepbrothers is considered morally reprehensible by most standards.... But so is homosexuality by others." Derek grimaced at the thought of the closed-minded individuals in question -- far too many of them in existence -- then continued. "It's not as though I ever coerced you or threatened you. It's not like I used my age or the fact that I'm your older brother to make you do anything you didn't want to do."

Stiles was nodding vigorously, but he didn't haul out the _"I told you so"_ Derek more than half expected and knew he deserved. All he said was, "You sure as hell didn't coerce me. If anything I was the one who started it. You know, seeing as I grabbed your dick and all!"

"You _did_ ask permission before you grabbed it," Derek reminded him, letting himself smile fondly at the recollection. Then, because Stiles deserved the acknowledgement, he added; "I'm glad you did, because I certainly never would have made the first move."

"I didn't mean to pull off your towel," Stiles said earnestly, and Derek was a little distracted from his words by the way his legs were sprawled akimbo, the material of his jeans beginning to punch up at the crotch. "And I grabbed your dick because I just really wanted to touch it. I didn't actually set out to seduce you or anything."

Derek nodded absently. "Well, I'm still glad it was you who got things going. That way I feel less guilty."

He actually felt a little guilty just saying that, but it didn't seem to bother Stiles. He was currently squirming out of his clothes, evidently feeling that Derek had given him enough of an explanation. 

"The age of consent is fourteen in a lot of South America and in China," Stiles supplied perkily as he tossed his jeans and shirt over the edge of the mattress, onto Derek's feet. Then his nose wrinkled. "Of course, that's heterosexual sex."

Derek rolled his eyes, reaching for the neckline of his teeshirt, deciding that he should get naked too since Stiles was well on his way and almost done. He didn't want to be left behind. Of _course_ Stiles had looked that up. Stiles wouldn't be Stiles without his desire to obsessively research every aspect of a subject he found personally interesting. And to be honest that was just one of the things about him that Derek had come to find endearing.

It was funny to think that he had once found it annoying and occasionally infuriating, but to be honest that was how a lot of things had been and were with Stiles. It was strange the way his reactions had changed when his feelings had changed.

"Well, the point is moot, since we don't live in China or South America," he informed Stiles crisply, evidently incapable of not engaging even when Stiles was being kind of tangential.

"And we're definitely not having heterosexual sex," Stiles said, but his tone had gone vague and his gaze was fixed on Derek's chest and abs once his shirt was off, and then his hard-on as he stripped off his jeans and underwear. "Wow. I forgot how hot you were when you were naked," he said bluntly, reaching toward Derek and making ridiculous grabby hands. "Come here!"

Derek huffed and rolled his eyes again, but only a little, and then he clambered over top of Stiles, pinning his wrists lightly down against the mattress. He knew Stiles preferred a little more force, actually _liked_ being marked with bruises as a result of Derek's passion, but he wanted to take a few moments to simply appreciate being back here when he'd thought this was gone forever.

He honestly had thought he'd pushed Stiles away thoroughly enough that he'd never have this again, and the hell of it was that he had done it on purpose. He was grateful to discover that he'd been wrong.

"Hi," he said softly, ignoring the way Stiles' rapidly swelling cock was pressed against his stomach as he lay over top of him, ignoring the way his own erection slotted into the heated crack of Stiles' ass as though it belonged there. Stiles was growing taller and broader, but Derek was still bigger than he was.

"Hi," Stiles breathed, his eyes going a little crossed beneath heavy lids, his lips parted, tongue flickering out to dampened their red swells. Then, before Derek could lower his head and claim that tempting mouth with his own, which he fully intended to do, Stiles let out a disgruntled sound and his soft expression firmed into one of mostly feigned irritation. 

"Damn it, Derek," he grumbled, flexing his wrists within Derek's grasp, "This is the _second_ time you've wrecked my brilliant plans to get your attention!"

Derek snorted out a little laugh before he could catch himself. "That's probably just as well," he said, nipping lightly at the thin skin over Stiles' raised chin. "Considering how your plans generally go."

"Hey, my plans are awesome!" Stiles squalled indignantly and when he tried to free a hand -- most likely in order to smack Derek -- Derek tightened his grip a touch cruelly.

Stiles gasped and instinctively arched upward, and that was when Derek gave in to desire and inclination and dove in to plunder his delicious mouth. 

Well, delicious might not be the exact descriptor. Stiles tasted like pizza sauce, pepperoni, garlic butter, and the icing from his cinnamon roll. But Derek was _kissing_ Stiles when he'd thought he'd closed that door forever, and so it was the sweetest flavor he'd tasted since... well, since the last time they had kissed like this.

Stiles' tongue was quick and ready, plunging into Derek's mouth, teasing at his own tongue, drawing it back into Stiles' mouth, and they tangled together, licking their way back and forth into one another's mouths while Derek squeezed the slender wrists in his hands and Stiles rocked his hips up, grinding his erection into the firm muscles of Derek's lower belly.

This was familiar and yet it had been so long and Derek had been so certain that they would never do it again that it felt all new. Well, and when they _had_ been having sex it had only been for a few days, moments stolen during their trip to see their grandparents, so it sort of _was_ still new.

This whole thing was probably a really bad idea considering that they were stepbrothers, Derek thought foggily as he and Stiles twined their tongues together between their closely-pressed mouths. The age difference would get less questionable as the years passed but they would always be related, even if only by marriage.

And yet Derek couldn't deny his feelings for Stiles any longer. This wasn't just about the sex. If it _had_ been, Derek could easily have found someone else to sleep with. No, it was about how cute and funny and sweet and occasionally infuriating Stiles could be.

Derek was... well, he was _in love_ with his stepbrother, even though he was seventeen and Stiles was only barely fourteen.

It should have felt like a revelation, but Derek had kind of known all along. His heart had just been waiting for his brain to catch up to the reality of his feelings.

It wasn't scary. It didn't feel wrong. It felt _right_. It felt more right than anything else Derek had experienced in his life. And that was partially because he was actually pretty sure that Stiles felt the same way about him.

Then Stiles started sucking on Derek's tongue, the way he'd done the first time they had kissed, and lust exploded in Derek's brain, obliterating his maunderings on emotion and affection.

He couldn't take that for long; as much because it made the root of his tongue ache as because it had him ready to shoot off against his mattress like _he_ was the one who was fourteen, but he enjoyed it while it was happening.

Too soon he felt compelled to pull away, lifting his head and admiring the redness he'd brought to Stiles' mouth, the faint pinking of the skin around it due to the stubble he maybe should have shaved off, the flickering of Stiles' tongue as he tasted Derek's saliva, wetting his plump, pressure-bruised lips.

"Love your mouth," Derek murmured before he could stop the words from coming out, then he flushed faintly because it sounded like either bad porn or a lame romance movie, but Stiles just smirked up at him, eyes alight under heavy lids, cheeks hot.

"That's because you know what my mouth can do," Stiles replied, squirming a little under him and not sounding like bad porn at all despite the cliched sentence, sounding like the best kind of porn, his voice husky and tone assured, his red lips curled up maddeningly at the corners. 

He wasn't wrong, of course. That wasn't the _only_ reason Derek loved Stiles' mouth, but it was definitely a big part of it so Derek didn't argue.

Instead, he just smirked in return, licking his own lips. "I do. Do you wanna...."

"Blow you?" Stiles supplied eagerly, arching up into Derek's body where he was stretched out over top of him, his wrists flexing in Derek's loosened grip. "Yes, a thousand times yes!"

While Derek was gratified and filled with warmth and arousal to hear the enthusiasm in Stiles' voice, he couldn't help offering alternative options.

"I was thinking I could blow you. Or we could try rimming again... you seemed to like that...."

"I-- Yes," Stiles blurted, nodding vigorously, his cheeks stained with blotches of heated red. "I want all that, many time, both ways. And I intend to get all of it while Mom and Dad are gone. But," he squirmed a little again, "Right now what I really want is for you to fuck me."

If Stiles had anything to say after that Derek missed it for the white noise that filled his ears, the sound of his pulse racing all he could hear. He knew his eyes had gone wide and he was staring down at Stiles unseeing, but he couldn't seem to get his brain back in gear.

He'd thought about it before, of course. While he'd been rimming Stiles, while he'd been fucking between his slicked up thighs, and almost obsessively while he'd finger-fucked him. But Derek had spent months denying that there was anything between them and as a result he'd kind of set aside just how _much_ he wanted to sink his throbbing cock into Stiles' tight little ass.

The thought of that, the memory of how tight it had been when he'd had three fingers in there, the knowledge that Stiles was inviting him to get his _cock_ in there, shook Derek free of his fugue-like state. He blinked and frowned down at his younger stepbrother. He wanted that, he wanted it more than he could have known before that he wanted it, but he had to ask....

"Are you sure? I mean, not are you _sure_ ," Derek said, since Stiles had been the one to suggest it, but, "But are you ready? I don't want to hurt you...."

Stiles blushed more vividly, but he didn't look too embarrassed; just suddenly kind of shy. His white teeth dented his kiss-red lower lip and he replied a little breathlessly.

"It's okay. I've been... um, been stretching myself... you know, _there_." He turned even more bright pink, if that was possible, and it looked adorable. Derek really was a goner, he thought fondly as he examined Stiles' flushed features. Part of this surge of warmth was the relief Derek was feeling when he heard that Stiles was prepared physically as well as mentally, he had to admit, but mostly the affection he was feeling was just his reaction to Stiles being Stiles.

"Are you sure?" Derek pursued, asking again because he knew full well that his younger stepbrother was capable of manipulating the truth in order to get things that he wanted. 

"I'm not lying," Stiles said, and he didn't sound indignant, though he did roll his eyes as if he thought it was a stupid concern. "And I'm not exaggerating just to get laid. I know you'd blame yourself if my first time sucked and then I'd never get fucked again."

" _Our_ first time," Derek corrected, amused by the way Stiles' eyes went wide and he sucked in a breath. It was true, though. Derek had fooled around a little before he and Stiles had started this thing between them, and he didn't really consider himself a virgin in any sense of the word, but it had never involved penetrative sex. 

"Awesome," Stiles exhaled, one of his hands cupping the side of Derek's face, because Derek had evidently at some point let go of his stepbrother's wrists. His hands were already bigger, Derek noted, and he loved that Stiles was growing up, that he was rapidly becoming a man rather than a child. He had a ways to go yet, true, but he was definitely maturing quickly.

Derek might still be a pervert, in so many ways, but it made him feel like _less_ of a pervert when Stiles looked more adult and less like a middle schooler.

Reading the way Stiles tipped his chin up as a request, Derek lowered his head and kissed him, sweet and soft despite the inviting way his lips had parted.

"I'm telling the truth," Stiles assured Derek once they were done kissing. "I'm one hundred percent ready for some butt-fucking."

"Oh, Jesus." Derek bowed his head and laughed a little into Stiles' shoulder. Stiles pulled his hair in vengeance, but that was honestly more of an encouragement than a punishment of any kind. 

"I don't even want to know how you managed it, do I," Derek said, not bothering to add the question mark at the end.

"No, you do not," Stiles confirmed, grinning up at him as Derek raised his head to stare down at him fiercely. "I _will_ tell you that a dildo was involved, though."

Derek froze, mind filled with images both titillating and horrifying. Mostly horrifying, though, because he was pretty sure a person had to be eighteen or older to buy sex toys and Stiles was limited in the number of adults he knew who would be willing to help him out with that particular purchase. 

There was no way their Dad would have done it, Derek thought it was highly unlikely that their Mom had gotten her fourteen year old son a dildo, and so that left only one likely possibility.

"Please tell me Uncle Peter didn't buy it for you," he whimpered. He recalled Stiles saying that he'd been emailing their prodigal relative, and he could all too readily imagine how delighted Peter would have been to receive a request like that from his young nephew.... Hell, he might even have been the one to suggest it in the first place.

"I told you that you didn't want to know," Stiles said pertly, his smile wide and way too amused. "You should've believed me."

Derek sighed because as much as he didn't really want to admit it, Stiles was right.

Well, even if he wasn't happy about the Peter connection, Derek wasn't actually upset that Stiles owned and used a sex toy -- at least as long as Stiles hadn't, like, made videos for their pervert uncle to watch -- and the thought of Stiles fucking himself with a dildo was a compelling image that was growing to overwhelm Derek's imagination as he let go of the Peter-connection in his head.

"It's not as big as your dick, of course," Stiles was saying, as though it was perfectly natural for them to have a matter-of-fact conversation about dildo use while Derek was laying there naked on top of his equally naked younger stepbrother... and evidently it was natural for them now, "But it's definitely bigger than my fingers. And I can take the whole thing with no problem now. It feels amazing, actually."

"Fuck," Derek groaned, dropping his head to rest on Stiles' shoulder again. He could feel the sweat beading on his temples, and then Stiles' fingers were threading through his hair, almost petting him. He let himself be soothed by the touch, but his cock was throbbing against the mattress, already leaking, and now that they'd pretty thoroughly hashed this out he felt that he might be ready to move things along.

Well, he wasn't going to rush into the main event, no matter what Stiles seemed to think. They had plenty of time for foreplay, seeing as they had the house to themselves for at least a couple of days, and Derek intended to bring Stiles off at _least_ once before he even got his cock inside him.

They'd gotten pretty familiar with one another during the trip where they'd started banging, but that had only been for a few days and Derek was sure that they both had a lot to learn yet. About themselves as well as one another.

"I'll fuck you," he said, shivering as much at the way his voice came out hoarse and hungry as due to the broken open, equally hungry expression his words put on Stiles' face. "But first I'm gonna blow you."

"If you must," Stiles breathed, but this time there were no overblown theatrics, just the words gusting over parted lips, flushed cheeks, and eyes that were hot and dark under almost closed lids. Derek took a moment to admire how thick and long Stiles' lashes were, prettier than any girl he'd ever known with mascara on, and then he bent to kiss those red lips again, licking into Stiles' mouth and moving his arms so that he could run his hands over his chest and shoulders.

Stiles' shoulders were broader and more bony than Derek remembered and his pectorals were more defined. Derek approved of these changes. His nipples were still pink and plump, and they tightened under Derek's questing fingertips in a way he definitely remembered and had missed.

Stiles let out a whining sound and wriggled under Derek, his spine stretching like a cat's. His arms came up to wrap around Derek's neck and shoulders, his bitten-down nails a blunt little prick that Derek barely noticed.

"Missed this, missed you," Stiles muttered against Derek's chin as they broke their kiss long enough to grab a little air. His breath was hot and moist through Derek's stubble, and Derek had to battle the urge to claim his mouth in a kiss again, but there was something else he wanted to do with his mouth.

"Missed you too," he muttered, because it was true and Stiles deserved to hear it. He nuzzled his way underneath Stiles' sharp jawline and mouthed absently at the arched line of his throat, but his actual aim was a great deal further down Stiles' body....

He wasn't in a rush. Even though his throbbing cock was urging that he should be, Derek had finally let go of -- well, okay, _almost_ \-- all the guilt and negative emotions toward having sex with his younger stepbrother that he'd been feeling before, and he wanted to make sure that he appreciated everything that he had stretched out underneath him right now.

"Your texts were pretty explicit," he grinned, somehow finding himself still talking even though he had Stiles pinned down by his own body, willing and eager. Then again, maybe they really _should_ be talking during sex, so that he could be sure he was doing everything right.

"My texts were inappropriate and I'm sorry," Stiles unexpectedly said, sounding both mournful and breathless with arousal at the same time. The words were a bit stilted, but he uttered them with complete sincerity, enough so that it tugged at Derek's heart.

"Stiles, if I'd minded I'd have said something," he said earnestly, a little surprised because he'd thought they'd already hashed all this out. "Yeah, I was too chicken-shit to reply and too much in denial to encourage you, but if I'd wanted you to stop I would have said stop."

Stiles nodded, but he didn't look convinced.

"What got you so worked up, anyway?" Derek asked, setting aside his horniness in favor of curiosity, despite the way his hard-on was urging him now, now, _now_. He knew Stiles and he knew that it was unlikely to have been simply embarrassment over that photo of his asshole that had caused him to go silent. There had to have been something else.

"I...." Stiles bit his lip and it shouldn't have looked as sexy and adorable at the same time as it did, but with his cheeks flushed and his hair a riotous mess, he just looked too edible. 

Derek waited patiently, raising his eyebrows in query but otherwise leaving the silence between them for Stiles to fill. He was curious as hell now. Stiles didn't look guilty, exactly, but he didn't look far from it.

"Don't get mad at her, okay, but Erica told me about _Jennifer_ ," Stiles blurted out, suddenly and unexpectedly, all in one breathless rush, his gaze fixed on Derek's almost seemingly against his will. 

Derek was startled as much by the deep loathing he could clearly hear in Stiles' voice when he spoke Jennifer's name as he was by this new information... though he maybe shouldn't have been, considering how protective Stiles tended to get over people he cared about. The two of them were similar in this way, and it warmed him to know that Stiles held him in such regard, assigned him that much value.

Not that Stiles hadn't already made that clear. He'd let Derek know how much he meant to him, verbally, more than once, and Derek hoped he'd sufficiently returned to favor. It was far too soon to use the more powerful of the two "L" words, but that didn't mean that both of them didn't feel it....

"What does that have to do with your texts?" he asked, confused by the workings of Stiles' mind. He couldn't see any correlation between the two, but Stiles' brain didn't work the way his did... and it wasn't entirely because of his ADHD. He and Derek were just two very different people; usually they complimented one another, but sometimes it made communication a little difficult.

"Well...." Stiles was still gnawing on his lower lip and while this rendered it plump and red, Derek would have rather achieve this effect with his own mouth. So he propped himself on his elbow and thumbed the beleaguered flesh from between those clamping teeth.

"You're not mad at Erica?" Stiles asked, licking his pressure-bruised lips and greatly distracting Derek. Not enough that he couldn't process the question though. "She was drunk, if that helps any."

Derek snorted. "If I got mad at Erica over something like that, we'd have stopped being friends years ago." he replied honestly. He was still bemused but pleased over the fact that Erica and Stiles had gone from being antagonistic to the point that Stiles was reduced to tears, to emailing each other completely independent of Derek. But Erica had been maturing a great deal in the past year or so, even before she and Boyd had gotten married, and Derek was proud of her for that. 

Stiles looked thoughtful, then grinned and nodded. Derek wasn't about let himself be derailed so easily though, whether Stiles had done it on purpose or not. It was hard to tell sometimes, because Stiles was really good at deflection but he was also very random and his brain really did jump around a lot. The family had grown used to it, but Derek didn't think he'd ever actually understand it.

"So what does Jennifer drugging me have to do with your texts?" Derek persisted. He still wanted to blow Stiles, but they evidently needed to get this out of the way first, before he completely lost his erection. Because the thought of Jennifer was definitely enough to get his hard-on flagging a little, unfortunately.

Of course, he'd been the one to bring up Stiles' texts. Not with the intent of detouring them from their joint goal of getting off... but now that the matter was out there, he couldn't not know.

Stiles' face twisted in a mixture of disgust -- most likely at the mention of Jennifer's name -- and guilt. "They were the same, you know?"

Derek thought the brows crawling up toward his hairline communicated his incredulity at this statement pretty well. But just in case Stiles missed the meaning, he said, "What?" in a tone that he hoped communicated his confusion.

"Like... you didn't ask for them," Stiles fumbled, his eyes wide and his expression earnest, clearly doing his best to help Derek understand. "And silence doesn't equal consent."

"God, Stiles," Derek said, tempted to laugh at his stepbrother but sensing that this would be the wrong thing to do right now. He did roll his eyes, just a little, because he couldn't stop that from happening. "There's nothing at all similar in the two situations, and like I've said, if I wanted you to stop I'd have told you so. If anything the fault is on _me_ for keeping silent. Don't worry about it, okay? We're good."

Stiles looked unconvinced, but then Derek kissed him until they were both panting for breath and by the time they broke apart Derek was pretty sure there was something else on each of their minds. As far as he was concerned, the matter was closed, and he'd really like to wipe the resurgence of Jennifer's memory from his brain. 

"Now, were you going to let me blow you, or what?" he asked archly, lips quirking in a crooked grin as he gazed down at Stiles' pink face and ravished mouth.

"Yes, please," Stiles said meekly, though his answering smirk was more wicked than coy, and his heated gaze was unabashedly fixed on Derek's lips, which he was sure were as red and slick with their mingled saliva as Stiles' were.

"Finally," Derek groused, putting extra exasperation into the exclamation just for the pleasure of seeing Stiles roll his eyes in turn; such a familiar expression and one that he had missed just as much as Stiles' laugh or his smile. Then, before his stepbrother could respond, Derek moved smoothly down and slid his mouth over Stiles' throbbing hard-on.

It was pretty safe to say that Stiles was beyond words at this point. But the fingers clenching in Derek's hair were encouragement enough as he went to work, bringing Stiles to his first climax of the evening.

It would be the first of many if Derek had any say in the matter. Which he did. Though to be fair he didn't think Stiles was likely to disagree.

+=+=+

Stiles kind of wished he'd known this was going to happen because then he would have eaten a little less pizza, or maybe fewer breadsticks. And he'd definitely have used less garlic butter.

But that was okay. He was pretty full but not to the point of sickness, and Derek hadn't seemed to mind kissing him, garlic breath notwithstanding. Besides, right now _all_ of his attention was on the hot-wet suction of Derek's mouth and the fact that his dick was very, very happy to be inside it.

Derek had blown him before, but Stiles had forgotten just how amazing it was. He felt as though his entire body was alight with pleasure, golden warmth dancing over the surface of his skin, his toes curling, his balls drawing up, and he knew he was going to come way too quickly, but he also knew that he'd be having plenty more orgasms tonight, in as short a period of time as his body would allow, and right now he couldn't think of anything other than chasing down and wallowing in his inevitable climax.

When it washed over him, Stiles felt as though he was floating in a thick syrup of pure pleasure, even at the same time there was a minor explosion in his groin. The explosion in question being a sharp, hard burst of intense ecstasy, as well as the more literal and visceral explosion of his come flooding Derek's mouth.

Well, okay, "flooding" was a little bit of an exaggeration... but Stiles _felt_ like that was what had happened. He reveled in the feeling, vaguely aware of his fingers closing too tightly in Derek's hair and the danger of a cramp in his right calf as his muscles all tensed up tightly before uncoiling, but most of his brain had been blown away by the excellent orgasm Derek had just worked out of him without even really trying. And then he was collapsing in a melty puddle on the mattress and nothing else really mattered.

"I feel like raw chocolate chip cookie dough," he slurred, his eyelids too heavy to lift. He was able to shift toward the heat of Derek's body as he moved back up to stretch out next to him, half laying on top of him, a nice weight holding Stiles down when he was kind of floating away but not heavy enough to make him feel smothered.

"Gross," Derek said, because he was a total barbarian, and Stiles managed to crack his eyes open in order to catch the cute little wrinkle of Derek's nose that he knew would be there. He was not disappointed and it made him want to ruffle Derek's hair as if _he_ were the older brother here. But he was too limp to even move, so he settled for smirking loosely.

"Or maybe the dough once it's been in oven for a while," he allowed, because he did feel as though he was sinking all warm and melty and soft into the bed... into _Derek's_ bed, and the fact that he'd just gotten off in Derek's bed at the same time Derek was in it -- that Derek had been the one to bring him off, with his _mouth_ \-- was almost enough to reignite his arousal, but for now his brain was more on-point in that regard than his spent dick and emptied balls.

For _now_. He was fourteen and would be able to get it up again before very much longer. Of that much he was certain.

But before that, it was definitely Derek's turn to orgasm. He'd sucked Stiles off, and Stiles really ought to return the favor. Not just because it was good sex etiquette but also because he really, really wanted to make Derek come. It had been way too long since he had gotten his mouth stretched around that thick cock that he'd spent so much time fantasizing about, both when he'd been jerking off alone on this very bed before that fateful family trip and angrily after they had sort of broken up. 

It had been way too long since he'd tasted Derek's jizz.

"Wanna blow you," he murmured, before Derek could start lecturing him on the dangers of ingesting uncooked eggs, though the way he spoke that last word into Derek's lips as they closed over his, maybe Derek hadn't been planning on doing that after all. 

Derek's hand was large and tender against the side of Stiles' face, cradling his jaw like he was something delicate and precious, fingers tracing smoothly over his cheekbone, and his mouth was heavy and hot and tasted a little like jizz... for obvious reasons.

Thankfully Stiles didn't find that gross -- which would have been kind of hypocritical since it was _his_ jizz -- all it made him do was remember how awesome the blowjob had been and realize how much he wanted to suck Derek off now.

"Okay," Derek breathed against his mouth, after kissing him for so long and so thoroughly that Stiles had completely lost track of the conversation, such as it had been.

"Uh?" he asked intelligently.

"You wanted to blow me?" Derek asked, nudging his nose into the sharp point of Stiles' chin and that should have felt silly or maybe just sweet, but it turned Stiles on in a way that had his spent dick thinking about coming back into play. The words should have sounded like some of the grosser amateur porn Stiles had stumbled across in his internet forays, but Derek uttered them with a rough heat that couldn't be anything other than sexy to Stiles, and he nodded vigorously. 

"So much," he exhaled, feeling out of breath but in a good way. For something to do with his hands he carded his fingers through Derek's hair, feeling how soft it was without product in it, and hoping that he was making up a little for having pulled at it so hard earlier as his fingertips tracked lightly over the curve of Derek's skull.

Instead of replying, Derek kissed him again, which wasn't getting his dick anywhere near Stiles' mouth, but it was really nice and made Stiles feel warm and valued at the same time it turned him on more.

He really did want to blow Derek, though, and so he shoved at him until Derek obediently rolled onto his back, at which point Stiles shamelessly clambered over his prone body until he was straddling that muscle-hard belly. He gazed down into a familiar face that held an expression which was as much bemused as aroused and felt a rush of affection sweep through him. He'd missed Derek _so much_ while he'd been at college but he was here now. And he was all Stiles' for at least three days, maybe more.

This thought filled him with smug possessiveness, and Stiles felt no guilt whatsoever over this fact.

"Hi," he smirked, letting himself fan his hands out over those incredible pecs, feeling the smooth skin and the soft furring of chest hair and the tightening peaks of Derek's perking nipples as his fingers moved over them. He was a little concerned that Derek wouldn't like the fact that Stiles' butthole was resting directly against his skin, bleeding heat right above his navel, but considering that Derek had been talking about both licking it and fucking it, Stiles figured he wouldn't mind very much.

And it wasn't like it was gross or anything. Maybe it had been wildly optimistic of him, but ever since Derek had come home for vacation Stiles had been making sure to keep himself as clean as was possible _back there_ without a really embarrassing trip to the drug store. And it seemed as though his preparation might be about to pay off....

Well, _after_ he'd blown Derek's mind as thoroughly as Derek had just blown his. Because a reciprocal blowjob was about to happen.

"Hey," Derek replied softly, and he looked softer and more affectionate than Stiles was feeling, which Stiles needed to fix. 

Not that he didn't appreciate Derek's adorable expression. Not that he didn't bask in the knowledge that Derek actually _liked_ him. But he wanted to cause Derek to be overcome with lust. He wanted that gorgeous face flushed and shiny with sweat. And he wanted to feel Derek's hard-on pulse on his tongue as he came down his throat.

Since there was no real reason not to pursue this goal, Stiles gave Derek what he hoped was a smoldering stare, his lips still quirked, then he slithered down his stepbrother's body only a little awkwardly, until he had that thick, hard cock in his hand.

This was a familiar position, sort of crouched, sort of kneeling between Derek's spread thighs, thumbing at the leaking head of his dick before sucking as much of it into his mouth as he could fit. Stiles had thought for so long that he'd never have this again, and so he intended to make the most of it that he could.

Unfortunately for _that_ plan, Derek was clearly as keyed up and turned on as Stiles had been, and so this blowjob had about the same effect on him that his had had on Stiles.

Meaning that Derek came quickly, hard, and longer than Stiles had done. Stiles wasn't quite able to swallow it all, and used his wrist to wipe away the overflow staining the corners of his tingling lips as he pulled off and straightened slightly. Derek managed to crack his eyes open in time to view that last move, and that seemed to give him enough strength to move and grab a hold of Stiles, curling around him, cuddling him aggressively. Their naked bodies fit together just as well as they had before Stiles' latest couple of growth spurts -- something he would never ever admit to being anxious about because that was just silly -- and Derek nuzzled his way into the nape of Stiles' neck, hot breath tickling in the best way.

"Just give me a few minutes and we can move on to the main event," he murmured, the words moist and heated where he spoke them into the sensitive stretch of skin behind Stiles' ear. That, as much as the promise in what he'd just said had Stiles' skin prickling and his dick valiantly getting hard all over again.

"Yeah," he breathed, incapable of really saying more, but then, what more needed to be said?

Right now, though, despite the promise and the desire, they both lay there reveling in the closeness they'd both been denied for too long. Derek did shift enough to pull the blanket over them both, but he accomplished this without releasing his hold on Stiles, which was perfect, and then he tugged him in closer once that was done.

Stiles was man enough to admit that he liked being the little spoon. It was the same as when Derek pinned him down, though less sexually fraught. So often his brain felt scattered and his attention flew every which way. When Derek held him down or held him close and gave him no options, gave him only one thing to focus on, that centered him in a way nothing else had ever done.

And, of course, orgasms helped. They helped a lot.

Both of them were in their sexual prime but they'd both just come pretty recently and that on top of a kind of large meal, so they lay there for a few warm, snuggly, softly breathing minutes, just enjoying the closeness and one another's body heat.

The problem with spooning, though, was that it rendered making out almost impossible, or at least severely uncomfortable to accomplish. So eventually, before either of them could nod off or something equally disastrous, Stiles squirmed and wriggled until he was facing Derek.

Derek grunted and grumbled a little, especially when Stiles came dangerously close to clocking him in the junk with one thigh, but he seemed to realize what Stiles was after and his arms never left their warm circle around him.

Then once they were properly positioned, he swooped in and kissed Stiles stupid before Stiles could even make the first move.

Not that Stiles was liable to complain, he thought breathlessly as he tilted his chin up and parted his lips in order to allow Derek's demanding tongue entrance. Why would he complain about who initiated the kiss when it felt this good?

They made out for a while, but when Derek's hands began wandering over Stiles' body, strong and warm and hungry, Stiles kind of thought that they could move things along.

"You gonna fuck me now?" he asked, a little appalled and a little aroused over how husky his voice came out sounding. Derek was palming his ass and his dick had definitely recovered from the blowjob and was ready to rejoin the party.

The party in his pants, that was. Or the party he'd be having in them if he'd been wearing them. But thankfully he'd already taken them off. So had Derek. And that was perfectly awesome.

"Eventually," Derek huffed, leaning down to bite carefully at the thin skin over Stiles' shoulder where it met his neck. He angled his throat back to give Derek more room, maybe encourage him to exert a little more pressure with his teeth, but Derek just licked and nuzzled at the flesh Stiles exposed.

Well, and that was good too. Stiles wouldn't have thought being licked could be so sexy -- outside of when Derek was rimming him -- but it was like there was a hardwire right down from his neck to his dick that had it straining to attention and begging _for_ attention.

"What do you mean eventually?" he squawked once Derek's reply had filtered through the haze of arousal that fogged his brain. "I thought that was a plan!"

"That's the goal," Derek said, kissing the corner of Stiles' mouth as if that was... well, okay, it _was_ pretty sexy, for some reason. "But it's not the next step in the plan."

Stiles rolled his eyes, because Derek could be such a pedant, even if not everyone knew it. But it was one of the things that Stiles found kind of charming about him -- though more so when it wasn't being aimed at him -- and he was now madly curious, so he gave in and asked;

"So there's a plan now?"

Derek grinned and Stiles _loved_ the way his eyes crinkled a little and his nose wrinkled, and he _loved Derek_ , but he already knew that.

"Well, sort of," Derek said, his grin softening into something less sharp and more fond as Stiles stretched up a little to kiss the tip of his chin. "I mean, mostly we're half-assing it, but I thought there were a few things we could do before we get to the butt-fucking portion of the evening."

Stiles stared at Derek, mouth hanging open, unable to believe that Derek had just echoed his own poorly chosen turn of phrase back at him, and then he dissolved into giggles, as unsexy as that was. But he thought that it was okay because that was probably exactly what Derek had intended; to cut the seriousness of talking about anal sex a little.

Because Stiles didn't know about Derek, but now that it was something that was actually going to happen and not just a topic of conversation, he could admit that he was a little -- just a _little_ \-- nervous. It was one thing to stuff a dildo in his ass, and another thing quite entirely to be on the verge of having his hot, adorable, sexy stepbrother put his dick in him.

Or maybe not quite _on the verge_ , if Derek's words were any indication. Stiles wasn't sure how he felt about that. On the one hand it meant more time to think about it... but on the other hand it meant that Derek had more chances to get him so wound up and turned on that he'd find himself begging for a good deep-dicking....

And, wow, it was probably a good thing Derek was french kissing him right now, Stiles thought a little hysterically, because "butt-fucking" had been bad enough; if he'd said that last aloud it surely would have killed the mood entirely. As it was he felt a little like bursting into completely inappropriate laughter, but since Derek was skillfully keeping his mouth occupied that urge passed pretty quickly.

They kissed until Stiles' lips were numb and his rampant brain had settled down a little. His dick was still hard and he could feel Derek's erection brushing against his own, proof that they were both ready for a second round. They kissed until Stiles forgot everything they had talked about, until his nerves were pretty much gone, and until all that existed in the world was making out with his hot older stepbrother.

Which thought added a whole other layer of kinkiness to this, but that wasn't Stiles' focus and it definitely wasn't why he was doing this. He was here because he was in love with Derek and he couldn't resist him, and for some reason Derek felt the same way about him.

Or, well, at least close enough to get them in bed together. Stiles wasn't going to make any assumptions about Derek's emotions or affections; he was lucky enough that Derek had finally decided he was okay with the sexual aspect of their relationship again. 

Derek's hands were large and possessive, moving easily over Stiles' body, leaving pleasure in their wake, and then as they both paused, breaking apart to actually _breathe_ for a change, these large, sure hands closed over Stiles' ass cheeks, cupping them, fingers flexing and digging into the taut muscles. Stiles moaned a little, completely involuntarily, and arched into Derek. Not because he was trying to get away from that amazing touch, but because his straining dick wanted some extra friction and rubbing against Derek's hips seemed like a really good idea right about now. Thankfully Derek seemed to understand this and he didn't let go his very welcome grip on Stiles' ass.

"Fuck," Derek groaned, the word a little broken and seeming dragged out of him. That was how Stiles felt too, so he could sympathize.

"We can do that now, if you want," Stiles murmured. Even though Derek had said he wanted to do some other stuff first, having Derek's hands on his ass made Stiles eager to get to the main event; namely Derek's fingers and then his dick inside Stiles.

"Don't tempt me," Derek growled, nuzzling his jaw, and Stiles frowned because why shouldn't he when that was something that they both wanted?

He opened his mouth, ready to voice this question, but what emerged was a startled squeak as Derek suddenly surged into motion and he found himself flat on his stomach on Derek's mattress, Derek's pillow in his face, and Derek's face in his ass crack.

Which all in all he had no complaints about, but really?

"A little warning might be nice," he said, levering up on his elbows to glare over his shoulder at Derek for half a second before there was a hot-wet tongue lapping at the spot right below his tailbone and he collapsed bonelessly, letting out a humiliating whine, his entire body shuddering and his dick leaking all over Derek's nice, soft navy sheets.

"Oh my God," he husked, spreading his thighs to give Derek better access as he made his way downward. If he'd expected any hesitation or more talking that wasn't what he got, but he couldn't bring himself to be disappointed as Derek's tongue laved over his asshole, causing his body hairs to stand on end and his dick to jump, blurting precome in an unexpected rush.

"Ah," he gasped, unable to keep quiet but not able to articulate as Derek basically made out with his ass for a good minute before he even came up for air. It felt like forever but it was also over way too quickly, and Stiles was only vaguely aware of the fact that his hips were rutting mindlessly into the mattress beneath him.

"You like that?" Derek purred smugly, as if he even needed to ask the question. The pad of his thumb took over as his mouth moved away, working at heating up and loosening the tight ring of muscle back there, though it was gonna take more stretching and a lot of lube before Stiles was ready for anything bigger than one finger.

"What would make you think I didn't?" Stiles surprised himself by being able to ask, though he was aware that he sounded more breathless and fucked-out than snarky. He twisted around to look at Derek again, trying to pretend he hadn't drooled all over Derek's pillow, and his hard-on _throbbed_ as he took in the ruddy hue of Derek's lips, the hint of dampness on his chin, the heated stare he was giving Stiles from under hooded lids.

Derek chuckled, seeming amused, and Stiles reacted even though Derek's thumb was still massaging and prodding at his asshole, reminding him of where they were headed. "How about you let me lick you out and see how you like it?" he challenged.

Derek looked intrigued, and for a hopeful moment Stiles thought he was going to get his chance, but then Derek was using his free hand to retrieve the lube out of his bedside stable drawer and while he was disappointed, Stiles couldn't say he was _very_ disappointed.

Especially not when Derek got two fingers slicked up and slotted inside him with very little preamble.

"Maybe later," Derek rumbled over the sound of Stiles gasping and the rustle of sheets as he spread his legs even further. "After I fuck you."

"Yeah," Stiles whined, tilting his ass back into the intrusion. The problem with this move was that it lifted his aching erection away from the bed, and he whined again, a little discontented this time, moving awkwardly to get a hand underneath himself so that he could fist his hard dick.

"None of that," Derek said with unexpected firmness, grabbing Stiles' arm at the elbow with the hand not covered in lube and pulling it away. Stiles let out an indignant squawk, but at the same time he burned at being manhandled in the way that Derek did so well.

"Hurry it up then," he groused, fisting the sheet under him and vengefully slamming his torso back down onto the mattress so that he could squirm and get a little satisfaction that way. His dick throbbed and leaked appreciatively, and Stiles was absolutely wrecking Derek's bottom sheet, but bedclothes could be laundered and he just really wanted to be fucked, _right now_.

"Hush," Derek instructed, and Stiles thought he was kind of a jerk, and he'd like to see Derek hold it together with lube-slick fingers in his asshole, but then Derek was sliding three fingers in and began actually working at stretching him, so Stiles mostly forgave him and lay there, panting and shivering a little as the pleasure rolled over him in increasing waves of heat and arousal.

He'd played with and opened himself up many times with lube and his own fingers -- almost daily, in fact, and sometimes more than once in any given day, especially now that he was on vacation -- but it wasn't anything like having someone else do it. And when the person doing it was someone he was in love with, that added another layer of pleasure to something that was already really damned pleasurable.

"Derek," Stiles whined, humping a little, his ass cheeks clenching around the intrusive digits, his dick smearing through the mess of leaking pre-ejaculate he was getting all over his belly and the bed. "Come on."

He didn't even have to look to know that Derek's eyebrows were doing things, but he couldn't guess what they were and to be honest he didn't really care. And when he pulled himself together enough to glance back he could see that Derek's cheekbones were striped with hot crimson, his skin lightly dewed with sweat, his expression dazed with lust but his eyes sharp where they were fixed on where he was finger-fucking Stiles with increasing vigor.

"I don't want to hurt you," he said, glancing up at Stiles, managing to look dangerously turned on and yet trepidatious at the same time.

"You won't," Stiles assured him, twisting his upper half as much as he could without risking pulling his ass away from Derek's hand so that he could meet Derek's gaze steadily. "Or at least not in ways that don't also feel good. I know your dick is big, Derek, but I can take it. I've been--"

"I know, I know," Derek interrupted hurriedly, his face going a little more red, but Stiles smirked as he caught something else in the flicker of Derek's gaze. 

"I could show you," he offered wickedly. "Then you could see that I'm ready for it."

Derek's eyes went glassy and distant, his mouth dropping open, and Stiles wanted to kiss him all over again but they weren't really in the best position for that, and if he didn't have Derek's dick in him he at least didn't want to lose those delightful fingers.

"I...." Derek licked his lips. 

"Let me run to my room and get my dildo," Stiles suggested, holding still except for the faint rocking of his hips that he honestly couldn't help and didn't actually want to stop. "I'll give you a show and then you can fuck me, okay?"

Derek was kneeling behind him, between his spread thighs, and Stiles could see his fat red cock jutting up, head flaring and dripping with pearly juices. His mouth watered but he'd already blown Derek. Now it was time for that thick shaft to go somewhere else.

Stiles blushed a little at the bluntness of his own thoughts, but they were both kind of beyond embarrassment at this point, considering that Derek had nearly half his hand in Stiles' ass and Stiles was offering to fuck himself on a fake cock for his stepbrother's enjoyment.

"I don't know if...."

That wasn't a "no", so Stiles reluctantly -- _very_ reluctantly -- wriggled his way loose of the fingers Derek had buried in him and over the side of the bed.

"Just wait right here," he said, leaning over to give Derek a sound kiss on the mouth, fingers ruffling though his thick, dark hair. "I'll be right back, I promise."

Derek looked adorable and confused and sexy but also kind of lonely, kneeling on his bed, one hand shiny with lube, his dick jutting up hard and heavy between his legs, and Stiles missed having something in his ass, so he made the quickest trip he had ever made, almost _running_ into his bedroom to collect his dildo and a box of condoms, before racing back to Derek's room.

"Stiles, I'm not sure--"

"What?" he interrupted, kissing Derek again as he clambered on the bed, grabbing the bottle of lube and flopping on his back this time. "It's win-win, Derek. You get a show, I get to stretch myself a little, and this way you can be sure I'm ready."

He paused, freeing a condom and rolling it over the dildo, pursing his lips and staring at Derek's hand.

"Not that I don't miss your fingers in me," he said honestly. "But if it gets your dick in me faster, I'll make that sacrifice."

"Your asshole is really tight," Derek said unexpectedly, his voice vague as he watched Stiles lube up his dildo and scoot around to get into position on his back. "I like fingering you, but after a while it kind of hurts."

Stiles almost giggled, but that would have sounded childish and betrayed the small amount of nerves he felt at the thought of what he was about to do. He couldn't let Derek think he had any doubts, and so he nodded instead.

"I know; I've had the same trouble. But _this_ thing doesn't care how tight my ass is!"

Derek blushed as Stiles waved the dildo -- which was a vibrant pink that had Stiles questioning Peter's taste in sex toys; but to be realistic Peter had probably chosen that color just to be a jerk -- and then his entire face went slack with arousal as Stiles lay on his back, lifted his knees, and tucked himself almost in half so that he could reach down and comfortably feed the first half of the pink shaft into his anus.

It did hurt a little. Derek had been stretching him, but not very much, and the trip to his bedroom had tightened the relaxed muscle up a little. But Stiles tended to be impatient while masturbating alone and so he wasn't unfamiliar with the sharp spark of almost-pain before the sensation of fullness and the pleasure of stimulated nerve endings overrode this passing discomfort.

"Ooh," he gasped without meaning to, his thighs clenching, hand tight around the dildo. His eyes had closed and even though he wanted to see Derek's response he absolutely _couldn't_ get them to open again as he pushed more of the shaft in. He wasn't sure there was enough lube but he was too eager to pause and pour out more. He wanted to get the whole thing inside, wanted to fuck himself on the solid silicon, and it wasn't even to convince Derek he was ready for his gorgeous cock; at this point it was just because it felt so good.

With his eyes closed it was almost like he was fucking himself on his familiar dildo in the darkness of his own room, not on Derek's bed with Derek watching and the lights still on....

Not that Stiles didn't want Derek to watch. And once he could focus past the pounding of blood in his ears and caught the hitching little gasps that his older stepbrother was letting out, that made this a million times more sexy. 

He wanted to look, to see if Derek was jerking himself off, to see if he was watching avidly, to see if he was licking his lips or if his mouth was open to expose his cute little bunny teeth, he wanted to _see_ Derek's lube-slick hand wrapped around his own dick, moving up and down the shaft....

But it was all Stiles could do to keep a grip on the dildo as he slid it in and out, keeping his movements smooth and careful. He'd learned the hard way that jabbing it in could be dangerous, especially because getting the _wrong_ angle was just as painful as getting the exact _right_ angle was pleasurable.

He got so lost in the familiar act of fucking himself with the dildo that Stiles kind of forgot about his audience and before he quite realized he'd jammed his thumb into his mouth the way he did when he actually _was_ alone. 

Oops. By the time he realized, it was far too late, there was no way Derek hadn't seen and recognized what Stiles was doing. But he just needed something in his mouth, okay? By this point in their shared lives, Derek _had_ to know how orally fixated Stiles was.

"Oh my God."

That was Derek, not Stiles, which was kind of a given considering that Stiles had his mouth full right now, and Stiles cracked his eyes open at the same time he tugged his thumb away from him mouth, trying to surreptitiously wipe it off on Derek's sheets, searching for Derek's face to see if they were still okay.

He needed them to be okay. His knees were crunched up almost to his chest in a position he wasn't going to be able to hold much longer on his own, his toes were curling, and he was working a bright pink dildo slowly in and out of his own asshole. He'd pretty much tossed dignity to the wind and if Derek was going to call him out for sucking his thumb -- which he hadn't really been doing, not really, he'd just had it _in_ his mouth -- then he wasn't sure he'd be able to survive.

But if anything Derek looked even _more_ turned on. Maybe he hadn't even noticed the whole thumb thing. His eyes were fixed on Stiles' ass and the dildo he was working into it, his cheeks flushed, his hair damp with perspiration at the temples and along his hairline, and his magnificent chest was heaving as he struggled to catch his breath.

That Stiles could cause Derek to look so thoroughly wrecked without even touching him was a huge ego boost and switched his emotions around from afraid he'd screwed everything up to feeling a certain sense of power....

Sure, Stiles was the one who was about to take it in the ass, but from the looks of it, Derek was the one who'd be willing to say or do anything in order to make sure that happened!

Not that Stiles had any intention of making Derek work for it. Not when it was something he wanted so much too.

"Do you wanna take over here?" he asked, and was that his voice coming out so hoarse and raspy? He hadn't even done much yet, hadn't even had a chance to deep-throat Derek the way he liked to do when he'd blown him earlier, and yet he already sounded kind of fucked out.

"What?" Derek actually _startled_ , his eyes flying from Stiles' well-stretched asshole to his face. He looked dazed and not a little confused, and Stiles let himself smirk a little.

"I'm ready for you now," he clarified, pulling the dildo out with a wet sound and a little groan at the sensation of coldness and emptiness. But he really, _really_ hoped to get something even better in there momentarily, and he hadn't wanted Derek to think he meant fucking him with the dildo when he'd meant fucking him with his cock.

"Oh," Derek said, and it wasn't really much more than a thin exhalation, barely a word at all, but Stiles was pretty sure that Derek wanted to fuck him so he took that as a good sign rather than a bad one.

"Come on, Derek," Stiles urged, setting the dildo aside -- and they really were destroying Derek's sheets, but it was for a good cause, _really_ \-- and grabbing a fresh condom from the box that he'd prudently left within reach. "Fuck me. Don't be a literal cock-tease here."

Derek snapped back into focus, his mouth clapping closed and his eyes narrowing as he glared at Stiles. "Did you just call me a cock-tease?" he questioned, though he did obediently take the condom that Stiles held out for him.

"No," Stiles clarified, wondering if he maybe should have held onto the condom because things would probably move along faster if he put on Derek's dick for him. "I called you a _potential_ cock-tease. If you don't give me your cock, like, now. Just put it inside me!"

"Oh my God, bossy," Derek grumbled under his breath, which, rude very much? But he also ripped open the condom wrapper and put it on without any hesitation, so Stiles let him get away with it.

"Should I roll over?" he asked, stretching out one leg and rubbing his calf against Derek's hip, working out a potential cramp as well as getting in a little indirect touching, because he was really starting to miss Derek's body warmth. 

Derek looked a little uncertain, which was adorable... and also hot, since he was kneeling there holding his dick in his hand, ready to plow Stiles senseless if they both got their way.

"I don't know," he mumbled, glowering at Stiles in a way that was cute rather than offensive. "I've never actually done this before, remember? Haven't you researched it?"

Stiles let out a little scoff that was half laughter and half muted hysteria. "Dude, of course I have," he said, bringing his knees back up and hooking his hands behind them, holding them manually, which made this position a lot easier to maintain than when he'd been manipulating the dildo into himself. "It's supposed to work better if I'm on my stomach, but I wanna be able to see you. And it's not like I'm new to having something in my ass. Just do me like this."

For a moment Derek looked as though he was torn between feeling overwhelming lust and regretting all his life choices... but lust clearly won out without too much of a struggle. After taking a moment to work some more lube into Stiles' hole, making him shudder and let out a little mewl, tightening his stomach muscles in order to present himself more fully, Derek moved into place, guiding the tip of his dick to where his fingers were sunk deeply inside Stiles' body.

"Are you--"

"Derek," Stiles interrupted, speaking as loudly as he could without yelling, in tones born of as much desperation as exasperation, "If you ask me if I'm sure or if I'm ready, I swear I'm going to knock you over and sit on your dick and ride you until I come."

Derek's eyes crossed a little and he bit his lower lip for a moment before saying, "Well, that's.... Um, we can try that later if you like."

Stiles was about to scream from frustration -- even though he _had_ painted a very intriguing mental image that they really should follow up on in the future -- but then Derek pulled his fingers out and he took that as a very good sign so he shut up.

And there it was, the blunt head of Derek's dick, pressing at his hole, much hotter than Stiles' dildo could ever be, even when he warmed it beforehand, and not as stiff and unforgiving as the silicon no matter how hard and flushed with blood it was.

Stiles was already in love with the feeling of getting fucked and Derek hadn't even actually put it in yet. Well, he knew what penetration and intercrural sex both felt like and he kind of figured being fucked would be some of the best of both those things.

Derek let out a throttled noise as he pushed his way in, as though _he_ was the one getting boned, but if this was his first time actually having his dick in someone Stiles could forgive him. He could forgive a _lot_ , because having Derek's erection in his ass was just as amazing as he had thought it would be!

Yeah, it hurt. It stretched him even more than the dildo had, since Derek's dick was considerably thicker. But, oh God, it felt good at the same time.

Derek's hands clamped hard on Stiles' shoulders, holding him in place as he slowly but very steadily shoved more of his thick dick into Stiles' asshole, the stretch becoming a burn and then turning into nothing but flaring pleasure, and this, _this_ was the feeling Stiles had been chasing every time he'd fucked himself on his dildo, but it had never felt this good, and he'd never felt this... _full_. That might be a cliched term from all the internet porn he'd ever read, but Stiles _got_ it now, and he loved it and he wanted to have it always and forever and for the rest of his life.

Or, at least until he came. It might get a little awkward after that. But he intended to make sure that Derek fucked him often and always, and in this moment of penetration that seemed to sweep out into infinity, forever didn't seem too far out of reach.

"Oh. Fuck," Derek choked out, sounding pained, pausing about two-thirds of the way in if Stiles was able to judge -- and since _all_ of his attention was fixed on his ass and what was happening to it, he thought he could judge pretty well -- his head dropping down to rest on Stiles' shoulder, his breath already coming fast and rough as though he's been sprinting.

"Don't stop," Stiles entreated, his own voice just as broken as Derek's. "Keep going. Put it all in me, Derek!"

He tucked his knees up around Derek's waist, his heels locking at the small of Derek's back, and this freed his hands up so that he could wrap his arms around Derek's neck. These slight movements had Derek groaning, his whole body wracked with one large shudder where he was hunched over Stiles. And this position was even more awkward than porn made it look, but Stiles regretted nothing, because he had Derek's dick in his ass and Derek's face within kissing distance and it was so much better than being plowed from behind would have been....

Though he really intended for them to try that as well. Soon. He wanted all the sex in all the positions, and they had the house to themselves for _days_ , after all.

"If I do that I'm going to come," Derek grunted out, lifting his head and nuzzling Stiles' jaw. His eyes were closed and his brow furrowed in what looked like almost agony, and Stiles got it now, but he still wanted it all.

Then again, he didn't want Derek popping off even before he got fully inside. So he didn't insist, didn't clench his ass around Derek's shaft even though the intensely stretched muscle felt like spasming, and he pulled himself together enough to actually sink the fingers of one hand into Derek's hair. He hoped he was being soothing, but since he felt a little like he was going to shake apart from sexual arousal he wasn't sure he managed it.

"Is it okay?" Derek slurred, his lips slack as he rubbed his mouth against Stiles' chin in something that wasn't quite a kiss but which was almost more intimate for its unstudied nature. "Am I hurting you?"

Stiles squeezed his thighs a little and pressed the pads of his fingers into the hard curve of Derek's skull. "Would I ask you for more if it hurt?"

"You might." Derek sounded more alert now, less lost in overwhelming passion, and Stiles kind of hoped this meant he'd staved off the risk of premature ejaculation. 

"I might," Stiles allowed, because Derek wasn't wrong. "But it doesn't hurt, not more than it feels good. And it would feel better if you shoved the rest of it in and then started moving."

"Jesus, Stiles," Derek groaned, but this was a tone Stiles was familiar with; fondness and exasperation rather than _"I'm about to jizz before I even get fully inside you"_ , which was a new one for them, but very sexy and kind of flattering as far as Stiles was concerned.

"Please fuck me," he entreated, because he was starting to feel as though he would actually _die_ if Derek didn't bone him soon. "Come on, Derek!"

"Okay, okay," Derek grunted, biting vengefully at the line of Stiles' neck, and that made him catch his breath, but in the next instant the air was punched out of him as Derek moved his hips with a powerful thrust and slid home inside of Stiles' eager asshole.

"Ah!" Stiles cried out, clutching at Derek with all his limbs and also his anus, and he was kind of lost in how amazing this felt but he didn't miss the way Derek let out a loud exclamation as well, and he figured this felt at _least_ as good for Derek as it did for him, if not better.

It felt really damned good, though. He could feel the hardness of Derek's hips flush with his ass now, and the brush of his pubes tickling his perineum, and that was just what he'd wanted, but where he was mostly focused was on the fat shaft that had his aching-but-in-a-good-way hole stretched wider than it ever had been before, and how it felt like Derek's dick was so far up inside him he could almost taste it -- again, cliched but true -- and this was _nothing_ like fucking himself with his dildo... and all of this even before Derek started moving.

Once Derek started moving -- _well_! Now it was Stiles' turn to be afraid of popping off too quickly. 

God, the flex of that powerful body between his thighs, the sensation of intense friction as the hot, hard shaft of Derek's dick dragged over the nerve endings of Stiles' anus, first out, then back in, out, then in... and the way the head of his hard-on pressed up against some very intriguing spots inside of Stiles' body....

Derek hadn't found Stiles' prostate yet, and Stiles was actually a little grateful for that fact. Because as good as it felt when he found it himself with his dildo and pushed the hard, rounded tip up against that elusive spot, manipulating it until he came so hard he almost passed out, if Derek's wonderful dick started stimulating it directly right now Stiles would be coming without any more fucking and where would the fun be in that?

As it was he was dangerously close. The more Derek fucked him the less it hurt, but it did still ache and Stiles was actually grateful for the slight pain he was feeling, because it kept him a bit further away from climax than he might otherwise have been. And he wanted to enjoy the feeling of being plowed for at least a little longer.

He held onto Derek's jolting body, his eyes closed, his head tilted back, panting for air when it seemed as though they were in a bubble of crazy heat and humidity and breathing was growing more difficult by the moment. Derek was so large and heavy and it felt so good to be curled up underneath him, his hands still holding onto Stiles' shoulders, his hips smacking into Stiles' ass cheeks over and over again.

Stiles whined, letting his ass open up to the intrusion, feeling the last of the pain slide into heated pleasure, the lube slick and spanking as Derek determinedly banged into him. Hesitation and the fear of damaging Stiles or coming too soon were clearly in the past, and now Derek was pursuing his orgasm with single-minded intent. It was just about _the_ hottest thing Stiles had ever experienced and he moaned as he clung to Derek, planning to ride this out to its end.

Derek's breaths were coming harsh and short, sounding as though they were being forced out of him, and his strokes had become more jerky than smooth, so he probably wasn't going to last much longer, Stiles thought hazily. That was okay, because neither was he. Not when he had a fat dick pistoning into him, not when he had Derek's breath blasting hot and damp against his cheek and throat, not when his ass was stuffed so full and being slammed so hard.

"Oh my God," Stiles choked out choppily through the way his entire body was being wracked by Derek's forceful thrusts, actually shocked that he was able to form real words, and then he squeaked in a way that would have been embarrassing if he hadn't been coming, as his knees clapped more tightly around Derek, his nails sinking into those broad shoulders, his dick jumping and spurting between their bellies, streaking jizz all over Derek's wildly flexing abs.

A part of him was shocked that he'd just come without touching his dick and without his prostate being directly stimulated, but the greater portion of his consciousness was scattered by the flood of fierce ecstasy that broke through him and wrapped all his senses up in golden light and warmth.

"F-fuck," Derek grunted, pushing his hips hard into Stiles' ass once, twice, then stilling and giving vent to a loud rattling groan as he evidently came in turn. His entire body shuddered after a moment, and he loosed an explosive gasp, then swore again, " _Fuck_!" in a way that almost sounded like a sob.

Stiles half thought, foggily and without any real alarm, that Derek might collapse on him now that he'd come, but somehow Derek managed to roll them both over and slid his dick very slowly, very carefully out of Stiles' ass -- for which he was very grateful -- then pulling the covers over them again and cradling Stiles against his chest as they shivered and panted together, easing through the last shocks of orgasm and moving smoothly into their shared afterglow.

Afterglow felt nice, Stiles mused happily, though his ass felt empty and kind of a little bruised right now, deep inside, in a way the dildo had never done, and he could tell without reaching back there that the muscle was kind of puffy in a way that was a little disconcerting....

But it had _so_ been worth it, and he was totally ready to do that again! Once his emptied balls had recovered, that was, and maybe after giving his ass some time to recover as well....

"Was that okay?" Derek asked as they both got to the point that they could breathe normally, rubbing soothingly at Stiles' back with one hand, his hot, sweaty cheek pressed to Stiles' temple, one thigh slung possessively over Stiles' flanks.

"I came without even touching my dick," Stiles responded tartly, though for his part he wasn't about to let go of Derek now that he finally had him in his arms. "I'd think that was a pretty clear indicator that it was more than okay."

"I meant... I didn't hurt you, did I?" Derek persisted, sounding more than a little worried, and just when Stiles had thought that he couldn't love him more, Derek was gone and proven him wrong.

"Nope," he hurried to assure Derek. "I told you I was ready for butt-fucking and I wasn't lying. I just can't wait to do it again."

Derek reared back and stared at him incredulously, and Stiles let his lips curl in a wicked grin. Because he really loved Derek, it was true, but he also really loved shocking Derek from time to time, and he loved getting such an honest reaction out of him.

After a moment Derek blinked, then he grinned back, shaking his head. "You're incorrigible," he informed Stiles, as though he didn't already know that. 

"And you love it," Stiles said impishly, before he could censor himself. Immediately upon the words escaping his mouth he slammed his lips closed and held his breath, but all Derek did was nod again, still smiling.

"Yeah," he agreed easily, and that seemed to be that, because he tugged Stiles in and kissed the tightness away from his lips, then settled into his pillow with a happy sigh.

Since Derek had used a condom and Stiles had mostly come all over their stomachs, there wasn't really much of a wet spot to worry about, and so Stiles cuddled closer and allowed the heat of Derek's body to lull him to sleep.

The bed was wrecked, but sheets could be changed and there was his own bed, which was smaller than Derek's but perfectly serviceable. They'd be fine, both for more fucking and for sleeping when it was time to actually go to bed and not just doze off.

They _were_ going to need a shower, Stiles thought, feeling a little smug at the thought that Derek was still smeared with his jizz, but that could wait until they'd rested a bit.

After all, they had earned it. They'd both had their first time -- having penetrative sex if not the first time they'd gotten off together -- and it had been good and that was something to celebrate. 

Stiles was thinking about things like shower sex and blowjobs and leftover pizza for dinner and how much he was going to miss his parents but how glad he was that they'd be gone for at least two or three days, maybe even more, and he didn't even really notice when he drifted off and fell asleep.

Derek didn't notice either, though, because he'd already been asleep for several minutes when that happened.

+=+=+

Derek woke up first, a little surprised to discover that they'd taken an impromptu nap -- which gave him a feeling of deja vu, reminding him of the first time he and Stiles had had sex in that hotel room -- but not _really_ surprised considering the spectacular sex they'd just had.

And it had been very spectacular and very definitely sex. He still wasn't taking back his assertion that any time two people got off together it should be considered sex, but there was something _more_ about penetrative sex that he'd never really understood before.

On the other hand, it didn't really change anything. Not where Derek was concerned. And aside from the potentially sore ass he might have, Derek doubted it would change much for Stiles either. That whole "V-card" thing was overrated, and as much as he'd enjoyed anal sex, Derek also enjoyed everything else they'd done up to that point as well.

Unlike that first time in the hotel room, when he'd found Stiles to be playing with Derek's cock when he'd awakened, this time Stiles was sound asleep beside him. Derek took a moment to gaze at him fondly and appreciate the image. He so seldom got to see Stiles at rest, when he was still and silent. His primary mental image of Stiles was of a blur of motion, always restless, always active. 

And he loved Stiles like that, but he also loved him as he was now, quiescent and beautiful in slumber, softly breathing in Derek's arms.

Freeing a hand, Derek reached and carefully trailed the tip of his index finger over Stiles' upper lip. He could see and feel a faint dusting of peach fuzz there, which Stiles might need to shave off in the morning, and suddenly, unexpectedly he was filled with a sense of affection and contentedness. He also felt a warm glow of optimism, because this hint of a baby mustache underlined for Derek the fact that Stiles was rapidly growing into a man, which made him feel like less of a pervert.

Yeah, pretty much anyone and everyone would disapprove of a nearly eighteen year old having sex with a fourteen year old, and they'd probably be right to do so. But Derek was Derek and Stiles was Stiles. And Derek felt like sometimes things like that needed to be taken on an individual basis. 

As Stiles had said, he would only get older; heck, he was already older and more mature than he had been when they had _started_ having sex. And at no point had Derek corrupted his younger stepbrother. If anything Stiles had corrupted him, but Derek kind of thought that they'd reached this point together. For which he had no regrets.

He'd thought that maybe he would... but, nope. All he wanted was to do it all over again, as often as possible, and to hold onto Stiles the way he was now in between the sex that they were inevitably going to have.

Because this wasn't just about sex. It was about affection. It was about closeness. It was about... love.

Derek had already reached the place where he acknowledged his feelings for Stiles, really, so he didn't freak out or anything. He did think, though, that he maybe ought to make sure that Stiles knew how he felt. It was a surprisingly terrifying idea, but Stiles deserved it for all the shit he'd put up with from Derek.

With this resolve in Derek's head, it was easy to smile back at Stiles when he blinked sleepily awake and the first thing he did was smile brightly at the sight of Derek.

"Hey," Stiles said sleepily, sweetly. It was weird to think of his younger stepbrother as this pretty teenager who warmed Derek's heart when it seemed like yesterday he'd been an annoying little brat who'd eaten all of Derek's cookies, and hogged the entertainment system, and drank milk out of the jug no matter how often he was told not to....

Well, he still did those things and others. But there were hundreds of new facets to him that Derek had discovered in their texts to each other, and Derek was eager to learn more. Besides, it might just be the result of having been gone at college and homesick for him entire family, but most of the things that used to annoy him about Stiles didn't seem quite so bad anymore. 

"Hey," Derek rumbled in reply, rubbing his eye and contemplating a shower, because they were both getting kind of ripe with sex sweat and jizz. "How's your ass?"

Chalk that up as a question he'd never really thought he'd find himself asking his younger stepbrother... and in all seriousness too!

Stiles hummed softly, stretching, then he grimaced. "A little sore, not gonna lie," he said, settling down again with no indication of planning to move any time soon. "But it's fine, and I'll be ready to go again soon."

Derek grunted, amused and aroused but mostly amused. "There are plenty of _other_ ways we can get each other off, you know," he said, grinning and shaking his head. There had _been_ plenty of other ways they'd been doing it before tonight, and probably others they hadn't even tried yet.

"I know," Stiles replied, rolling his eyes. "But I really like butt-fucking, Derek. It's even more awesome than I ever thought it would be."

Derek blinked, a little taken aback. "Well, okay then," he said. It wasn't as though he wasn't glad to hear that, since he would be the one to benefit from it as much as Stiles, but as ever he was a little startled by Stiles' blunt honesty. Maybe someday it would stop taking him by surprised.

He yawned, wondering if it was worth it to get up. They'd already eaten; they could decide on an early bedtime and not have to move at all from where they were now....

But the sheets were a mess and they were both smeared in jizz, and it was only early evening. They should probably shower and watch another movie or something before they did this all over again. After a load of laundry and a re-made bed.

Stiles yawned in turn, reaching up and rubbing at his face. "So," he said sleepily, "What do you think? Should we should tell Mom and Dad about us on my eighteenth birthday and risk spoiling the tail end of what will no doubt be a bitching birthday party? Or should we quietly move in together once I head for college and just email or text them the news."

Derek stared at Stiles silently for several seconds, hopefully not looking quite as stunned as he was feeling.

It wasn't as if he hadn't known Stiles was as deeply into as he was. And it wasn't like he didn't know that Stiles' scattered but brilliant brain worked things through until he had it all figured out.

But he sort of hadn't understood how really, truly _serious_ Stiles was.

It wasn't any more serious than Derek was, he was pleased to be able to say. And it probably shouldn't have taken him by surprise like this. Stiles had said more than once that this wasn't a fling or an experiment. 

How devoted Stiles was and the fact that he was thinking of their future together in terms of _years_ , though, in terms of _the rest of their lives_ , was kind of unexpected.

Derek's heart felt full and he started to smile even as his silence reached Stiles' attention and _his_ face fell. 

"Derek?" he asked, in a small voice, his brown eyes wide and vulnerable. "Did I.... Should I not have assumed...?"

"No," Derek blurted, hurrying to reassure Stiles, wanting to chase away the anxiety that was overwriting the sleepy pleasure that had been there on Stiles' adorable features. "No, you didn't _assume_. It's totally-- I just--"

Stiles licked his lips, looking a tiny bit mollified but still anxious.

"I mean, there's no reason for you to be stuck with me," he said, his gaze steady, his mouth pulling tight, his tone serious. "I know I can be annoying and I drive you crazy sometimes, and there's probably a lot of people out there who would be a better match for you...."

Derek's heart wrenched because he could hear that Stiles really believed what he was saying, and he wished he'd reacted differently, he hoped he'd be able to fix this, that he'd be able to bolster Stiles' flagging self esteem. Stiles acted so confident so much of the time that Derek tended to forget that he was actually a teenage boy, one who got put down a lot by his classmates and whose ego was undoubtedly just as fragile as Derek's had been at fourteen, if not more so.

"Stiles, there's no one I'd rather be with than you," he said as forcefully as he could without raising his voice. "That was why I carried you upstairs just now, you know? I realized that I couldn't be with anyone else, and even more than that, I realized that I couldn't stand the thought of you ever being with someone who isn't me. If we both feel that way, then why fight it?"

Stiles' face lighted up, his eyes glowing, but Derek wasn't quite done.

"I'm sorry that I was surprised," he continued. "I shouldn't have been. But I wasn't expecting you to be planning years from now." He paused a moment, unable to stop his lips from curving in a wry smile. "Usually you're not even thinking three seconds ahead."

Stiles looked offended for all of one heartbeat, then he snorted and let out something dangerously close to a giggle. "Well, that's true," he allowed, reaching up and running his fingertips wonderingly along the line of Derek's jaw, pads rasping through his stubble. "Otherwise I'd have given it a moment's thought before I whipped your towel off in the hotel room when all this started."

Derek laughed before he could stop himself, leaning in to brush the tip of his nose against Stiles'. "Like I said before, I'm glad you did," he murmured.

"I was just glad you didn't kill me for doing it," Stiles replied, tipping his chin up so that Derek had no choice but to kiss him soundly.

"Was that all you were glad for?" he teased, after they broke for air. "I seem to recall something about you being grateful for my cock."

"I never said that!" Stiles protested, but he was grinning as he said it and continued, "Not that I wasn't, and not that I'm not now, of course."

"Of course," Derek echoed.

"It's a very nice cock," Stiles told him earnestly, though Derek could see a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Big and thick and--"

He didn't get any further than this before Derek kissed him soundly again, effectively halting any further words he might have said.

"Do you think we should shower?" Derek asked after they'd made out for a while. His hands were spread over the muscles of Stiles' back and Stiles' fingers were sunk into his hair and it felt glorious and cozy at once, but... "I gotta change these sheets."

"Yeah," Stiles sighed but made no move to pull away or rise. Derek was no more inclined to let Stiles out of his arms, and so they lay there a few more minutes, basking in their shared body heat and their mutual intent.

"We kinda do stink," Derek murmured, feeling as though he ought to be the responsible one or something.... Besides, it was true and the thought of sluicing all the sweat and jizz off with hot water in a steamy shower stall, crowded together with Stiles, was beginning to sound more compelling than laying here in bed together... if only by a little bit.

"We kinda do," Stiles sighed happily, and he maybe shouldn't sound so proud of that fact, but it was _his_ spunk that was dried and flaking off of Derek's stomach, tangled in his pubes, so Derek understood. Which should've been grosser than it was, he thought vaguely, feeling lazy and happy.

"Seriously, though," he grunted, after a few more minutes passed and he found himself in severe danger of dozing off. 

Stiles, who evidently _had_ dozed off, startled in his arms and let out a discontent little noise. Derek knew that if he didn't get them moving they really would end up spending the night here, and while that was a compelling idea, he knew that they'd both regret it in the morning when they had to peel themselves out of the sheets and away from one another. 

"Come on," he said, sitting up and shoving very lightly at Stiles' shoulder. "Let's get into the shower."

Stiles whined and complained, but the mention of a shared shower at least got him off the bed. Then he was wide awake and yelping when he stepped on the used condom, now cold and slippery on the floor where Derek had dropped it once he was done.

"You asshole!" Stiles said, grabbing one of Derek's pillows and pummeling him around the head as he sat there laughing his ass off. "That's disgusting!"

"What was I supposed to do?" Derek asked, getting up off the bed -- being careful where he trod -- and grabbing the pillow from Stiles. "Keep it on? Leave it in the sheets with us? It's my floor; if I wanna litter, I can." And he _had_ knotted the end before he'd dropped it, even though that had been quite a feat in the aftermath of his intense and mind-blowing orgasm.

"Gross," Stiles said again, but he relaxed into the kiss Derek leaned down to plant on his lips, and then he led the way into the bathroom cheerfully enough.

Derek followed closely, after grabbing the condom between thumb and forefinger and flinging it into his garbage, keeping an eye on the tight little ass that he could so clearly remember being inside.

Damn, that had been incredible. He enjoyed all the different varieties of sex with Stiles, was pretty pleased with each and every way they'd gotten one another off, but he had to admit that he was developing a certain fondness for penetration.... 

Well, it was a good thing that Stiles had a fondness for being penetrated, then, wasn't it? 

"What?" Stiles asked, turning and wrinkling his nose as he got the water in the shower set to the right temperature. "What's up with that goofy look?"

Derek shook his head, smiling, not offended in the least. "I was just thinking about how lucky I am," he explained.

"Euw, yuck, Derek!" Stiles squalled with all the maturity of a fourteen year old male. "Stop it, you're getting emotions all over me!"

Derek laughed aloud at that, in no small part because he could tell Stiles was -- mostly -- joking. "I was thinking that I'm lucky you like butt-fucking as much as I do," he clarified.

"Oh. Well, then," Stiles smirked, stepping into the shower and gesturing imperiously for Derek to join him... which he did. "That's fine."

"Uh huh." Derek waited until he was in the shower stall with Stiles and had his younger stepbrother wrapped up in his arms before he continued, murmuring quietly; "And I'm truly lucky that you care about me the same way I care about you."

If Stiles had any protest to this amount of sappiness Derek missed it as he swooped in and claimed Stiles' mouth in a deep, satisfying kiss. That pretty much put an end to the whole thing, except when Stiles swayed close as Derek ran soapy hands over his smooth body, and whispered softly in his ear, "Me too."

The water was warm but the warmth inside Derek felt even better, and he couldn't help but kiss Stiles again, using his lips to communicate what his words had already said and more.

It was going to be awful heading back to college after winter break was over, waiting almost four years before he and Stiles could share an apartment or something the way Stiles had suggested, but for right now Derek let that consideration go and allowed himself to wallow in the moment. For now he was sharing a steamy shower with a beautiful boy who he loved and who loved him back, and once they were done here they would fuck again before falling asleep in one another's arms.

It was basically as close to perfect as it could be, and Derek was just going to focus on here and how, not the future. 

He wouldn't think about the fact that they were stepbrothers, that he'd be legally an adult soon while Stiles was years away from that, that their parents would be coming home in a few days, that vacation had to end and he'd have to head back to school, that there was the very distinct possibility of their parents not being okay with their relationship even after Stiles turned eighteen....

None of that mattered as Stiles wriggled, lithe and slippery in his arms, kissing Derek as though he could live off of nothing but the breath from Derek's lips, stealing away that same breath with the manner in which their bodies pressed and slid against each other, sleek and hot in the streaming shower water.

"Wanna go fuck on my bed?" Stiles asked once they were both as clean as they were gonna get. They both had full hard-ons again and Derek gave a silent thanks for teenage male stamina as he nodded and ran his hands over Stiles' entire torso, lingering at his nipples and the tight muscles of his ass cheeks, avoiding his erection for the moment, half expecting to be called a cock-tease again. 

Derek knew that he should be responsible and get his sheets laundered. He knew that fucking again _right_ after they'd bathed was ridiculous. Then again, that was what he'd ended up doing the first time they'd had sex, in that anonymous hotel room after Stiles had stripped away his towel and asked to touch his cock.

There were worse things, and right now the worst thing Derek could think of was _not_ fucking Stiles' eager little ass again.

Which was how they ended up on Stiles' bed, squeezed together a little because it was a twin, not that either of them was likely to complain, and that was also when they both realized that they'd left Stiles' box of condoms in Derek's room.

"Well, you said that you haven't done this with anyone else, right?" Stiles asked, looking as crafty as anyone could when their cheeks were flaming a brilliant red and their chest was heaving as they panted for breath. "And we both know I haven't. Condoms make clean up easier, and they're super important with sex toys, but I don't care if you come in my ass and I don't think either of us really wants to make the trip down the hall right now."

His logic was flawed in some way, Derek was sure. But in the heat of the moment he couldn't come up with any rational argument, and _he_ certainly wasn't going to leave their heated embrace to go to his own room for supplies. Not when they had lube right here and Stiles was in his arms, eager and willing and more than ready.

Besides, Derek had to admit that it gave him a certain thrill of proprietary possessiveness to think of spilling his jizz deep inside Stiles' body, leaving it there to stain him and mark him as _his_ , even though in reality it did nothing like that. Derek's instincts told him otherwise and that was the main reason he let himself be convinced without any further argument.

And he'd thought that penetrative sex had been mind-blowing before! Sliding home into Stiles' tight hole, now that they both knew better what to expect, and without the sheath of latex covering his cock... well, it was about _the_ most amazing thing Derek had ever experienced.

He wasn't quite sure how he didn't come immediately, was even more in danger of it than the first time he'd fucked Stiles' ass. This time Stiles was on his belly and the change in position made it different, made it so Derek didn't have to feel so much that he had to worry that he might hurt Stiles.

It also made stimulating Stiles' prostate easier, once he figured out how to hit it -- and that was probably as much luck as it was a working knowledge of male anatomy and gay sex, because, yes, he'd pulled a "Stiles" and researched it a little while he'd been at college, but in the end it didn't matter if it was luck or skill as long as he got it done -- and Derek made sure to work it until Stiles came with what was nearly a scream into his pillow, his entire body arching and clenching, forcing Derek's orgasm out of him in turn like a punch in the groin, but a very pleasurable one.

That was the second time they'd achieved the romance novel trope of the mutual climax, Derek thought fuzzily as he eased carefully out of Stiles then collapsed gracelessly beside him, but he figured that might have something to do with the fact that they were both so new to this and so keyed up that neither of them lasted very long before coming.

Not that he had any complaints. It might have been nice to spend longer fucking in and out of Stiles' ass, lingering over the way it was so tight while at the same time his cock slid in so smoothly.... But they'd get there. And right now, curling up with Stiles again, he had zero regrets about his lack of staying power.

"Euw, Derek, I'm in the wet spot," Stiles complained, well before they were in danger of dozing off, and Derek chuckled unrepentantly where he was nuzzling the nape of Stiles' neck.

"Ready to go and do some laundry?" he asked.

"I like your sheets," Stiles said, which wasn't really a non sequitur but it wasn't a reply to Derek's question either, pressing back and wiggling his ass into Derek's crotch in a way that would have had him hard in an instant if he hadn't just come. "They're softer than mine. How is that fair?"

"I bought my own," Derek informed him, petting his flank idly. "Expensive ones with a high thread count. You just have the regular cotton ones Mom picked out."

"Well, we're sleeping in your bed tonight," Stiles declared, as though that had ever been in question. Especially since he'd just jizzed all over his own bed and the wet spot was more than likely to have gone through the sheet and into the mattress, at least a little.

"Laundry," Derek reminded, poking Stiles again.

"Ugh, stop being so responsible," Stiles grumped, but he finally stirred and wiggled his way toward the edge of the mattress; unfortunately moving out of Derek's arms, but that was as it had to be.

"Your ass okay?" Derek asked again, as Stiles winced and let out a small, involuntary noise of discomfort as he stood.

"More sore now," Stiles answered honestly, biting his lower lip. "It's fine, but I might not be able to do that again for a day or two...."

"That's okay," Derek said, sliding out of bed and giving Stiles a tight hug, being careful not to touch his ass. "I wouldn't expect it. And I probably should have said no to fucking you just now--"

"No!" Stiles said, punching him in the chest. "I wanted it and it was awesome! I loved every second!" He shrugged, naked and covered in his own drying jizz, talking about the state of his asshole completely unselfconsciously. "It's just that your dick is way bigger than my dildo and I need to adjust. It didn't take me long to get used to the dildo after just having used my fingers, so I know I'll be fine. Just, not tonight, yeah?"

Derek couldn't help blushing even though they were evidently being completely open when they talked about sex... and to be fair, Stiles had never held back, had always been blunt about asking for what he wanted.

If he was honest, Derek admired Stiles for this, and he knew he was fortunate that Stiles did tend to be so open and blunt. Not that he didn't sometimes misdirect, not that he didn't sometimes outright lie, but Derek could usually tell when he wasn't being totally upfront about something.

"Let's wash your sheets at the same time we do mine," he said, instead of continuing this train of conversation, and Stiles was perfectly willing to go along. He stripped his bed quickly, wiping his belly with the top sheet, something between a grin and a grimace on his face, and then followed Derek as he went back to his room. Since Stiles _did_ pause to pull on a pair of boxers, Derek figured he should probably get dressed too, at least partially.

So before he removed his own bedcovers he pulled on a pair of sweatpants and after a moment's hesitation he gave Stiles one of his henleys to wear. Stiles quirked a brow and favored Derek with a smug, knowing look, but pulled the shirt on obediently.

Derek flushed, burning a little at the sight of Stiles in his oversized top, even though his cock was way too spent to do anything about it. But the possessiveness and pleasure were there, and these reactions were both far more than sexual in nature, despite being _mainly_ sexual.

It was a good thing they'd both gotten off recently and that he knew Stiles' ass was sore, because otherwise Derek was pretty sure he'd have tumbled Stiles right into their soiled sheets -- which were now a tangled mess on the floor -- and had his way with him right then.

As it was he gathered the laundry in his arms and carried it to the washing machine, vaguely glad that he hadn't touched anything but material with his armful, because he knew there had to be at _least_ one wet spot that hadn't dried yet, and stuffed everything inside.

"Wanna go finish the movie and eat more cheap cinnamon rolls?" Stiles asked as Derek added the detergent and closed the lid. He gave passing thought to having sex on the washing machine, but it was new and didn't vibrate during any of the cycles like the really old one his Mom had owned before she'd married Stiles' father had done, and since that was pretty much all of the appeal....

"Derek?"

"Huh?"

Stiles nudged him with a bony elbow, making Derek frown and grouch wordlessly. He might love Stiles but that didn't mean that he wasn't his younger brother and it didn't mean that Stiles wasn't still sometimes truly obnoxious.

"What were you thinking about?" Stiles asked, grabbing Derek's wrist and dragging him toward the living room, Derek following easily enough since that was where he'd been planning to head anyway.

"Sex," Derek replied honestly, because why prevaricate?

Stiles stared at him for a moment, mouth hanging open, and then he laughed and shook his head at the same time. "Right," he said, plopping down on the sofa with only a slight wince. "Why would either of us be thinking about anything else?"

"Beats me," Derek grunted, grabbing a cinnamon roll and taking a big bite. It was just as gross as he remembered but it was loaded with sugar which would replenish his energy after all the fucking they'd been doing and it was something to do with his hands and mouth other than... well, Stiles, who really did need a break.

"Let's go out and get the makings for these tomorrow," Stiles suggested, stuffing his face, the words only decipherable to Derek due to long exposure. "They're not even half as good when they're cold."

"And they weren't that great to begin with," Derek agreed. "Yeah, we can do that, if we can drag ourselves out of the house."

"We might already have everything we need here," Stiles pondered hopefully as Derek turned the movie back on. "We could stay in...."

"Nice try," Derek said, though he was more flattered than anything else by the way Stiles was raptly watching him suck icing off his fingers with heated dark brown eyes. They had so many more sex acts to try out, and old favorites to revisit, and staying in _did_ sound tempting... but the fridge wasn't as well stocked as it could have been, and he knew for a fact that they didn't have enough butter to successfully complete the recipe in question.

Stiles let out a yelp of protest as Derek ruffled his hair with the hand that wasn't sticky, but he was smiling and he leaned into Derek and tucked himself right up against his side as they started the movie back up.

The sex had been great and he couldn't wait to do it all again, Derek thought happily, as they cuddled together on the sofa and panned the awful acting and worse special effects of the film they'd chosen, but he loved this too; loved the closeness and companionship.

He loved everything about Stiles and he was glad that Stiles loved him in return. And he didn't want to lose this, ever, for any reason.

They might be family by marriage -- and Derek knew that would make things more difficult in the future, he wasn't going to delude himself and think otherwise -- but they were more than that now... more like family the way their parents were now family.

And, yeah, they weren't going to be able to live together like this all the time until Stiles was over the age of eighteen, but they _were_ going to do that. Stiles had suggested it and now Derek wouldn't rest until they both made it happen. Hell, maybe if Stiles really applied himself to school and got into some AP classes, he might be able to graduate a year ahead of schedule. Derek would suggest it, and use sex as an incentive. He figured that would work. 

They'd still have to wait until Stiles was eighteen to tell anyone, though. Even if Stiles did manage to start college earlier.

"Text," he said suddenly, causing Stiles to startle a little. "We're definitely sending them a text."

He swore he could _hear_ Stiles smiling, but all he said was, "Yeah."

+=+=+

That night one of Stiles' worst fears came to pass.

Not one of the Big Bad fears, like his father being shot on the job, or their parents' plane crashing while they were on their way to help Uncle Peter. It was one of the more normal, "well, this is humiliating" fears that plagued Stiles' midnight hours when he couldn't sleep.

Though, honestly, it all turned out better than he ever would have had any reason to expect.

It wasn't as if he thought that Derek didn't know about the way he sometimes sucked his thumb... though he'd kind of _hoped_. But suspecting that Derek was aware and getting caught doing it were two completely different things.

To be fair, Stiles was kind of used to humiliating things happening to him. Like Danny Mahealani shooting him down in the crowded hallway at school, or the way Lydia Martin had never remembered him even though he'd nursed the world's biggest crush on her for literally years.

And thinking back to how he had felt about her compared to how he felt about Derek now... well, he could definitely see it for the crush it had been. Because it had been nothing compared to how he felt about Derek.

Which worked out well for Stiles, considering that Lydia had never really given him a second glance while Derek liked him back for whatever reason. Stiles wasn't about to take that for granted.

Anyway, the point being that Stiles was used to humiliation. When he was clumsy and blurted out things that probably should have stayed in his head and had parents who seemed to take _pleasure_ in actively embarrassing him, it was a normal state of existence. Add to that the fact that he was a fourteen year old male and kind of a geek, with a hot older stepbrother who was cool without even trying, and Stiles had never had a chance.

But being prone to humiliation and having Derek catch him sucking his thumb were two very different things. Stiles really, really wished his hand didn't migrate involuntarily toward his mouth while he was asleep.

With as often as he woke up with his thumb in his mouth, if Stiles and Derek continued to share a bed it had been going to happen sooner or later. Maybe it was for the best to get it out of the way on the first night they slept together. Well, outside those nights in the hotel room, of course, and that first night Derek had come home from college for break when they'd kind of accidentally drifted off to sleep on this very bed. 

Okay, maybe Stiles had been _lucky_ it hadn't happened sooner.

Anyway.

If they'd been spooning it could have gone unnoticed but Stiles was still a restless sleeper, even when he had the bulk of a muscular body to semi-pin him down, and he'd somehow twisted around in the night until he was facing Derek.

And if Derek hadn't been awake at four in the morning when Stiles roused enough to realize he was sucking his thumb, left hand curled in front of his face....

Well, everything worked out the way it did, and when Stiles figured out that he was awake, that Derek was awake, and that he had his thumb firmly settled between his lips, he was still too sleep-addled to panic and flee.

He _did_ have the wherewithal to drag his thumb out of his mouth, his cheeks burning, and even though it was warm and comfy underneath the covers of Derek's bed, even though Derek's arms were wrapped loosely around him, he managed to twist and wiggle around until he had his back to Derek.

He wasn't sure if he intended to leave the bed or not, but this moment of indecision was rendered moot when Derek's grip tightened and he reeled Stiles' body back into his own, tugging him in tight, and they were effectively spooning again, Stiles still quivering with embarrassment even though Derek was nuzzling the back of his neck, nosing into the sensitive spot behind his ear.

"Sorry," Stiles muttered miserably, knowing he was tense, that his shoulders were hunched, but unable to make himself relax the way he had been, even though he was in the best place he could be. Of course, it would have been better if he hadn't been _dying of abject humiliation_.

"Don't be sorry," Derek murmured, still nuzzling him, his lips soft and heated, surrounded by the gentle prickle of stubble. "It was hot."

"Liar," Stiles huffed, still blushing, though Derek's words went a long way toward making him feel better, stilling the twisting of his stomach a little. "Babies suck their thumbs."

"You're not a baby," Derek said, speaking low and soothingly, and his arm was still solid around Stiles' waist, holding him still and keeping him steady inside his own skin. 

Stiles let out a wordless grump of irritation, not sure who he was irritated with, suspecting it was himself, but then Derek was moving his left arm in the dark warmth of their nest under the covers and the next thing Stiles knew, it was _Derek's_ thumb pressed against his lower lip. Gently, softly, not demanding in the slightest, but very much there and from the hardness of Derek's dick that Stiles could now feel against his ass it was definitely an invitation and a request at the same time.

Words seemed useless and so Stiles let instinct take over and his lips parted, allowing Derek to slide his thumb carefully, almost hesitantly between them.

It was strange and awkward having someone else's thumb in his mouth, even though the angle was about right. Stiles had felt less vulnerable when he'd had Derek's dick down his throat, as weird as that realization was. But he didn't let this stop him from sucking Derek's thumb the way he sucked his own when he was self soothing rather than masturbating.

It was way more sexual now, though, and Stiles fought the urge to smirk around the thickness of Derek's thumb as he felt a hot-wet blurt of pre-ejaculate hit the back of his thigh, Derek's hard dick jumping against his flank where it had settled when Derek had spooned him.

And now _everything_ about thumb-sucking was sexualized, but Stiles was so okay with that. Especially since Derek hadn't been turned off by catching him at it, had actually been turned _on_.

Stiles had pondered this possibility before, but he hadn't really thought that it might happen. He was relieved and aroused in equal parts, now that it had jumped from his imagination to reality.

And he hadn't at any point imagined sucking on Derek's thumb instead of his own. It was... different. Not hugely different, but enough that it was noticeable.

Derek's thumb was bigger than his own, thicker; much like a comparison between their dicks, except Stiles had never sucked his own dick. And it tasted different. Salty, which wasn't a turn off or anything; especially since it was most likely salty from the sex they'd had before bedding down for the night and maybe a little from leftover pizza.

Derek's nails weren't bitten down to the quick like Stiles' were, but he kept them neatly trimmed. It was definitely strange to be sucking Derek's thumb instead of his own, but Stiles didn't find it to be so strange that he wanted to stop.

Especially not when Derek was making those sexy noises into the nape of his neck, seemingly involuntarily, his hips shifting restlessly against Stiles' ass from behind, his hot, pulsing erection grinding into Stiles' thigh, rutting against him in lazy in a way that made Stiles' already interested dick perk up even more. 

Maybe "lazy" wasn't the right word, maybe it was more languid. And as Stiles clasped his right hand over Derek's left hand and applied a little more pressure to his sucking, Derek's thrusting picked up as well.

"Damn, Stiles," he grunted, and Stiles wrinkled his brow in a frown as Derek's right arm moved away from his waist, leaving him chilled and no longer anchored, but then he could feel Derek grabbing a hold of his own dick behind him, giving it some rough tugs, and he figured the sexiness of the action and the fact that he'd driven Derek to jerking off made up for the loss.

He also realized that jerking off sounded like a really good idea, and so he reached his left hand down and gripped his own straining hard-on.

It was weird and beyond weird to be touching himself with his left hand while he was still sucking a thumb. While Stiles was adept at masturbating with either hand -- since he tended to use his right hand to shove the dildo in his ass -- that didn't mean it wasn't awkward. But he wasn't willing to release the hold he had on Derek's hand, so this was how it was happening.

It didn't really last long, which was probably good because precome wasn't the best lube in the world no matter how copiously it was leaking, and Stiles' mouth was occupied so he couldn't use saliva, and he wasn't about to pause to reach for the lube... but it was good enough for quick and dirty, which was what it was when they both came.

Derek shot off first, with a low rattling groan, slicking up Stiles' thighs and ass, and he slipped his thumb out of Stiles' mouth as he curled more tightly around him, but that was okay because otherwise Stiles might have been afraid of biting down when he came in turn.

Then they lay there, catching their breath, both of Derek's arms wrapped around Stiles again, and his face buried in Stiles' shoulder. Stiles idly contemplated the fact that there was now a wet spot and he was part of it, but it wasn't too bad and definitely not enough to get him to move. Not when he could just lay here, safe and warm in Derek's embrace, and they could fall back asleep....

"That was good," Derek mumbled into Stiles' heated skin, his nose dipping a little and pressing at the curve where Stiles' shoulder met his throat. 

"Thanks for not freaking out," Stiles yawned, feeling relaxed and drowsy. It was still the middle of the night, practically, and they could sleep as late as they wanted, and he'd been caught sucking his thumb but it hadn't gone badly, had in fact gone very well.

"Nothing to freak out about," Derek replied, and Stiles felt like he was grinning, but he sounded as sleepy as Stiles felt. "I knew you sucked your thumb. No big deal. I just didn't realize how sexy it could be."

"Pervert," Stiles chuckled, joking, but then Derek went suspiciously quiet behind him, and so he felt the need to add, "I'm kidding. You're not a pervert, Derek."

"I know," Derek said, in a tone that didn't sound certain at all. But then he repeated, "I know that," with far more certainty, and Stiles bumped backward into him a little.

"You're just perverted enough," he informed Derek in all seriousness. This time Derek chuckled softly, but he sounded relaxed and Stiles felt like they were okay. He might need to do some more convincing in the morning, when he was actually _awake_ , but for now he thought that Derek believed him enough that the two of them could fall back asleep.

"Yeah," Derek sighed and Stiles didn't know what he was agreeing to, but it didn't really matter because they were both drifting off and tomorrow there would be breakfast and more sex and the entire day stretched ahead of them.

And aside from the delicious nest they both occupied now, that was the best thing in the world that Stiles could imagine.

+=+=+

"We should stop by Hallmark when we go out shopping today," Stiles announced, while he and Derek worked together to cook a truly epic breakfast that consisted of frying up an entire pack of bacon and making a huge batch of sourdough-eggnog french toast. "I want to pick up a card."

Derek raised a brow where he was setting up a pot of coffee to brew while Stiles temporarily manned the dual frying pans. "Didn't you sign the cards Mom and Dad already sent out?" he asked curiously. Because he clearly remembered that they had both done so, the very first day after he got home for vacation. Usually their mother liked to get the family's holiday cards mailed out earlier, but this year she'd had to wait until Derek was back from college and available to add his name, even though he knew that Stiles had offered more than once to forge it for him.

Not that Derek would have cared, but Talia was a stickler for things like that, and it was just easier to humor her, no matter what Stiles sometimes seemed to think.

"Yeah," Stiles said easily, flipping a slice of french toast that was the perfect shade of golden brown and smelled so good, of butter and cinnamon and nutmeg and eggs, that it made Derek's mouth literally water. "I did, but I wanna get Uncle Peter a thank you card."

It took that a second to process, and when it did Stiles was lucky that Derek didn't throw the coffee pot at his head.

"You do that and I'll disown you," he gritted out, and he meant it in all seriousness.

Predictably enough Stiles didn't take him seriously and had a giggling fit that lasted so long he almost burned the french toast. Which would have been more of a travesty than his awful thank you card idea. Derek bumped his younger stepbrother aside with his hip and easily took over, flipping bacon and dipping the bread in the egg-and-eggnog mixture while the coffee percolated and filled the kitchen with its rich, dark scent.

Stiles didn't complain about being ousted; he just slid his arms around Derek's waist from behind and rested his cheek against his shoulderblade, standing there far more quietly than he normally did, unmoving, warm and softly breathing. It was... peaceful. And comforting. And Derek kind of hated to move.

But eventually the food was ready and the coffeemaker chirped to let him know it was finished, and it was time for them to sit at the table and consume all of the deliciousness they had created.

"Seriously, though--" Stiles started once they were settled, and Derek pointed his fork at him.

"Seriously; _no_."

Stiles grinned at him impishly, a dot of powdered sugar on the tip of his upturned nose, his eyes sparkling with humor and mischief, and if Derek hadn't already realized he was in love with his younger stepbrother he'd have known it in that instant.

But he already knew, he was already at peace with it, and even though it was going to be basically the entire world against them, even after they reached the point that they could tell people, he knew things were going to work out.

It sounded cliched and trite, but Derek felt like they were meant to be together, and if it had taken their parents' marriage and Stiles' irrepressible insistence to get them where they were now, then Derek was grateful for both those things.

"Thanks," he said, causing Stiles to blink rapidly and tilt his head like an adorable puppy.

"For what?" Stiles questioned, licking his plushy-red lips and distracting Derek with the thought that they'd taste like sugar and bacon grease and would be delicious. That really had come out of nowhere, though, considering they'd been talking about Stiles' epically bad idea, so Derek should probably clarify.

"For not giving up on me even when I was an asshole," he replied frankly.

Stiles bit his lower lip then smiled kind of shyly, which was a strange but really pretty look on him. 

"I'm not sure why... _me_ ," he said, and Derek's brows rose even though he shouldn't be surprised by this seemingly sudden attack of bashfulness where Stiles was concerned. "But I'm really glad that you feel the same way I do."

Derek knew that this was the point at which he needed to say something nice to Stiles, no matter how difficult it was to put his feelings into words. Stiles was stubborn and irrepressible, but as he had proven in the past, he also had a fragile ego and tended toward low self esteem. And with the sentence he had just spoken, and the fact that he _meant_ it, it would be almost cruel of Derek not to reassure him of how much he was valued and loved.

"You're not as much of a geek as you think you are," he blurted, and that... well, that wasn't what he had meant to say. Not to mention it not being accurate in the slightest.

"What?" Stiles' face twisted in an expression that indicated he was likely feeling equal parts complimented and offended. Not that Derek blamed him.

"I mean, you _are_ ," Derek amended, because Stiles deserved honesty, even if it wasn't always easy to hear. "Really, you're about a million times for geeky than you think you are. But that's okay... you know, I _like_ that about you."

He could feel himself blushing as Stiles stared at him blankly, mouth hanging open. He really hated talking about his feelings and clearly he wasn't very good at it, but he plunged onward because he couldn't just leave it at that.

"I mean, you're passionate about things. And maybe it's stuff like online games and Dr Who, but those aren't unimportant just because some people think they're lame. I'm geeky about stuff too, right?"

Stiles was blinking slowly, and he didn't look offended anymore, but Derek still hadn't made his point and he hadn't really said anything very complimentary yet, so he forged doggedly on.

"Anyway, that's not the point. The point is that you're smart and devoted and generous to the people you like. You have more to offer the world, to offer _me_ than you might think you do."

"I'm _only_ generous to people I like," Stiles finally said, his mouth quirking in a lopsided smirk that Derek had trouble reading. Self effacing? Or just self aware? At any rate, it wasn't as though Derek hadn't said it first; he definitely recognized that fact about his stepbrother.

"Then I'm one of the lucky ones," Derek said, grinning back, because he was pretty sure he was on the upswing, that he hadn't managed to mortally wound Stiles' teenage ego. He wasn't done yet, though. Now that he was talking it seemed easier to keep going, and he wanted to be sure that Stiles knew how much he cared about him, that he knew how much Stiles meant to him.

"You're pretty," he said before the stopped to think, then blushed again as Stiles looked at him incredulously. "You _are_ ," he insisted, because the words were out there and he couldn't take them back. "Mainly when you're asleep, or maybe reading; when you're being quiet. And most of the time you're more cute than pretty. Sorry, but you _are_ growing into a man and I think he's going to be a handsome man for what that's worth."

Stiles looked a little stunned, which was understandable, because this was hardly a normal conversation for stepbrothers to have over french toast and bacon in the morning, no matter how much sex they'd had the night before.

"You're... that's...." Stiles seemed to rally, his spine straightening, and he frowned at Derek, looking more earnest than anything as he shook his head and protested, "Yeah, but you're at a godly level of handsome. I'm just not...." He waved a hand vaguely.

Derek snorted, offended on Stiles' behalf. "I got lucky genetically," he said, because he might not be egotistical but he _was_ aware that most people found him physically attractive; he'd have to be oblivious not to be. He thought his eyes were too wide-set and his nose too hooked and his ears definitely looked funny, but other people said things like "god-like", so. 

"Maybe I earned these muscles by working out every day," he continued, shrugging, "But I got my face from Mom and my father, I didn't have anything to do with it. Besides, you're cute and getting more handsome all the time. Never compare yourself to me, especially if it's uncomplimentary. I think you're sexy, and that's all you have to be, okay?"

Now it was Stiles who was blushing, turning a blotchy red that Derek -- God help him -- found completely endearing. "But--"

"Nope," Derek interrupted him before he could finish whatever his thought had been. "Not gonna listen. You're hot, I like you the way you are, and if anything you're smarter than me, so if we start playing the comparison game I'm gonna come out as much as loser as you in the end."

"You're smart!" Stiles protested indignantly, glaring at Derek. "Probably as smart as me!"

Derek smiled, feeling warm inside. God, he loved Stiles. He really was sunk.

"You're smarter," he said, shrugging again, because it was true. "But I don't mind. We both have strengths and weaknesses. We're different and that's okay."

"But you wouldn't mind if I started exercising more, right?" Stiles asked shrewdly, and he wasn't arguing so Derek relaxed a little. He suspected he'd have to tell Stiles from time to time in the future that he found him attractive, but that wasn't any real hardship. It would be easier by text, even though he didn't like to think about being back at college and having to keep in touch with Stiles that way instead of being able to cuddle with him on the sofa.

"Of course not," he replied, because the honesty thing had worked out for him okay so far. "It'd be pretty awesome, and I'll be happy to work out with you whenever I'm home. But I won't complain if you don't."

"Someday I'll be as tall as you," Stiles said, mopping up some syrup with his last slice of bacon and eyeing Derek speculatively. "But probably never as ripped."

"That's okay," Derek said, smirking as he flexed one bicep and watched the hunger flare in Stiles' eyes. "I wouldn't want you to be. But you like this, right?"

It was kind of a rhetorical question, he thought smugly as he watched Stiles involuntarily lick his lips. He didn't even care if he got an answer, but when Stiles' reply consisted of him climbing into Derek's lap, face to face, and _grinding_ he was glad that he'd gotten one. Non-verbal as it was, and all the better for that.

"Why did you?" Stiles asked, and Derek wasn't sure if that was the full question or if Stiles had gotten distracted halfway through asking like sometimes happened. He was _pretty_ sure Stiles wasn't asking why he worked out enough to have muscles like he did. 

"Why did I what?" he prompted, hands clasping Stiles' narrow hips, flexing on them through the thin material of the pajama bottoms he'd pulled on in order to come down and make breakfast. The fact that they were wearing clothing seemed kind of tragic right now, but there had been the frying of bacon to consider, so it had only been prudent. Derek's hands itched to grab Stiles' tight little ass but then he'd never have his question answered.

"That first night," Stiles breathed, which didn't really clarify at all, but then he continued. "Why did you pin me down that first night?"

Derek didn't actually have to think about it to remember what Stiles was talking about and he flushed hot with the memory, almost felt like there was steam coming up from the collar of his teeshirt. That had been awkward and he'd kind of been a dick but it wasn't a bad memory at all....

It was kind of amusing that Stiles thought of _that_ as their "first night", rather than the afternoon in the hotel room, but Derek figured he understood. That had been the first time he'd touched Stiles in a sexual manner -- because he might have just been mocking him when he'd ground his ass back into Stiles' erection, but no one could say that hadn't been sexual -- and it had been the night that had awakened him to viewing Stiles as a sexual being, one that he had come to realize he desired....

And evidently it held the same significance for Stiles. That was actually good to know. It made Derek feel less like a pervert who'd taken advantage of his younger stepbrother; even though they'd both established that he was not and had not.

"I'm not sure," he said slowly, thinking back, trying to parse the reason Stiles had asked him for. He didn't really have any success. "I mean, it was mostly because you were annoying the hell out of me." It almost felt as though the Stiles sitting earnestly on his lap, listening intently to his answer, and the kid he'd been babysitting that night were two completely different people, even though Derek knew they were one and the same. 

Stiles grinned impishly, and Derek could see the echo of the boy he'd chased around the living room, but he could also see the quickly maturing teenager he'd been falling in love with ever since that fateful night.

"I'm very good at getting a rise out of people," Stiles said archly, and Derek could hear his grandmother's voice because she was the one who said that very thing about Stiles, but he didn't let thoughts of grandparents stop him as he snarked back;

"I dunno, I think it was me getting a rise out of _you_ that evening."

Stiles' face flooded with heat and his mouth fell open in mingled indignation and arousal. An expression Derek was growing familiar with and even more fond of.

"Well, what so you expect when you're grinding your fine ass back against my dick?" Stiles asked, looking outraged but sounding horny.

Derek laughed. "You have a point." Then he sobered. "Honestly, I'm not sure why I did it. I was caught up in the moment. But that was when I started thinking of you sexually."

Stiles nodded, not seeming at all put out, even though he'd still been thirteen and several inches shorter at the time than he was now.

"Me too," he said, licking his lips and squirming a little where he was riding Derek's thighs. His hands were clasped at the nape of Derek's neck, his wiry forearms putting pleasant pressure on Derek's shoulders, and Derek wanted to lean in and kiss Stiles until he couldn't form words anymore, but he wasn't sure whether they were done talking yet.

"Really?" Derek arched a brow. "Because I seem to remember you staring at me quite a bit before that night. Not judging, just saying."

Stiles flushed and his mouth opened and closed, then he sighed and nodded sharply. "All right, you're right," he admitted. "But that was the first time anyone had ground their ass on my dick and that meant something to me, okay?"

Derek laughed, because Stiles was definitely being a little dork now. Thankfully for both of them, he liked it when Stiles was dorky.

"Hopefully no one else has ground their ass against your hard-on," he said, sobering up and giving Stiles a heated look. He wasn't going to pretend he wasn't a jealous lover, and once they'd cleared up the Heather misunderstanding it had meant a lot to him knowing that he'd been the only person Stiles had gotten sexual with. He kind of wished he could have said the same thing about himself, but it was too late now and at least Stiles didn't seem upset by that fact.

"Not on purpose," was Stiles' answer, which had Derek's brows winging up toward his hairline, but then he was leaning forward and those were Stiles' lips on Derek's and by the time the two of them came up for air they were a little distracted from conversation.

They were both way too full of breakfast for kitchen sex, though, so they made out until Derek's legs were in danger of going to sleep and then moved the make-out session to the living room. Lying together on the sofa, though Derek could admit to giving the shag carpet a lingering glance.... But it was truly gross and nostalgia only went so far. Besides, the sofa was way more comfortable than the floor.

Derek had thought maybe they'd run out of words, but he really should have known better where Stiles was concerned. He picked up the thread that they'd left off when they'd started talking about emotions and their attraction to one another, and it was almost as though they hadn't just been kissing one another breathless, almost as though Stiles wasn't half underneath Derek's larger weight pinning him down on the sofa.

"Well, if we're not going shopping for cards today," Stiles said, and he probably meant to look innocent, but he was entirely unaware on how _devious_ his faux innocent face was, "Can we at least shop for Christmas gifts?"

"We could do that," Derek replied slowly, thinking of bright pink dildos and things he might be able to buy Uncle Peter in revenge for that. But on the other hand... "Or we could just get groceries, come home, and have lots of sex."

"Oh. Okay," Stiles agreed without any need of further convincing, and he didn't even seem to mind when Derek smirked smugly down at him and then bent to render him silent and stupid.

Eventually their parents were going to come home and they were going to have to behave like brothers again, at least when not behind the safety of closed and locked doors. But for now they had the house to themselves and they could do whatever they wanted.

Derek had a feeling they both wanted the same things, and he intended to see that they got each and every one.

And _that_ , that was really the best Christmas gift they could have gotten. He was going to ignore the fact that it had, in a roundabout way, come from Uncle Peter, and would just enjoy it for as long as they had it.

Though he still just might order his uncle something off a sexual novelties site... if he got around to it.

Right now he only had one focus and that was Stiles. And that... _that_ was as it should be.

"You're such a dork."

"No, you're the bigger whale penis."

Things really couldn't be any more perfect. 

+=+=+

Peter Hale was equal parts amused, bemused, and annoyed when he opened his gift from his nephews on Christmas morning and discovered it to be an assortment of edible underpants in various colors. From the wording of the note he suspected it had been more Derek's idea than Stiles' and he tipped more toward amused when he realized that this was most likely Talia's son's way of paying him back for the dildo he had sent Stiles.

The joke was on Derek, though, because Peter would actually be getting some use out of the ridiculous things -- and who even knew they still made such novelty items? -- along with his new boyfriend.

Well, he would hesitate to give Deucalion that label, especially to the man's face. But they'd definitely been sleeping together ever since Peter's sister and brother-in-law had helped him sort out their initial... misunderstanding.

It was too bad that the various colors would be lost on Deucalion, but he'd at least be able to appreciate the difference flavors.

Peter smirked as he set the box aside for later. If Derek knew about Stiles' bright pink sex toy, then that meant it was highly likely that Peter Hale wasn't the only one getting laid this holiday.

His thoughts were less on his far away nephews, though, and more on the sexy, still somewhat dangerous man currently sitting beside him on his sofa. 

Still, he _was_ glad for the boys. They would have a rough road to travel, but at least they had each other.

And a crafty, canny uncle who was more than willing to help them out whenever he could... provided he wasn't busy.

And how could they be more lucky than that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shoves the fact that at 17 Derek wouldn't really be able to buy sex toys under the rug*
> 
> What? Nothing to see here! Move along, move along!
> 
> Also, if you like loose-leaf tea and chocolate, I created [a tea to go along with the fic](http://www.adagio.com/signature_blend/blend.html?blend=88131), with my own art on the tin/pouch. =^_^=


End file.
